Do You Know What a Gambit Is?
by Max Alleyne
Summary: Before he could finish his sentence, she brushed her lips across his forehead in a brief, gentle kiss. There was the familiar sensation of absorption, and his thoughts began running through her mind, and she knew he had no intention of surviving this.
1. The Mission

**Author's Note:** Okay, so this has been running around in my head for a bit. I may have to change the rating to M a little later on, just for future reference. I hope you enjoy. Please, please review. Criticism/encouragement/etc. is always welcome.  


* * *

Rogue sat in the shade of a tree, watching some of the other students play touch football. It was hot. Very hot. So hot, in fact, that Rogue had abandoned her typical long black pants, long sleeved shirt and elbow high gloves. Instead, she wore khaki shorts and a black tee shirt—hence the observing football as opposed to playing it. It didn't matter that it was only touch football. It still required something that Rogue couldn't do: touch. The faintest contact with her bare skin could put one of her friends in the med bay, and that wasn't a risk she was willing to take. Not to mention, she didn't particularly want any more psyches inside her mind. It was getting awfully crowded in there.

So, instead of playing, she sat and watched, and tried to take joy in her friends' fun. She _would _be happy for them, and she would enjoy the game…even if it was miserably hot outside. She may hate that she couldn't join them, but she _would _be happy for them. She had long since accepted the fact that there were some things she was never going to be able to do. She would never run her bare fingers through a man's hair. She would never touch another's face barehanded. She would never make love, or have sex for that matter. No children. She would never feel another's bare fingers on her face…Rogue pushed the thoughts from her mind before the intense and sometimes overwhelming loneliness could set in and take over.

_At least Ah can say that Ah've been kiss'd, _she thought. _Ah may die a virgin, but at least Ah can say Ah've been kiss'd. _

With a sigh, she let her mind wander over the past few weeks, and the increasing encounters with Gambit. Ever since the thief had taken up residence in the mansion, there had been a tension between them, one that Rogue couldn't seem to escape, no matter how hard she tried. Yes, he flirted incessantly with any female that had legs, but it was different with her, and they both knew it. The tension had come to a head a week and a half ago when she had let him kiss her…now she was wondering if that was such a good idea. After all, she would never be able to actually touch him…not without putting him in the Med Bay.

"_Chere?_" A disembodied voice interrupted her thoughts. Her shock pulled her to her feet as she immediately began looking for the source of the voice. Knowing exactly who it belonged to, she looked to the lower branches of the tree. Sure enough, Gambit was perched on one of the lowest branches, smiling down at her. He was wearing his sunglasses, of course, and his long trench coat. How he could stand it in the heat was beyond her. She put her hands on her hips and frowned up at him.

"Git down from there, rahght now, swamp rat."

"Remy was jus' watchin' 'y," he said innocently.

"How long yah been there?"

"Not too long. Professor X is lookin' fo' 'y, _chere._"

"What for?"

"Dunno. He's wantin' ta see 'y."

"Well, yeah. He wouldn'ta sent yah if he wasn't." She turned and began to head inside the mansion to Professor Xavier's office. It wasn't until a few minutes later that she realized that Remy was walking along side her. "How d'yah do that?" she asked.

"Remy grew up a thief, 'member?"

"Rahght. How could Ah fo'get?"

Remy stepped in front of her and stopped her in her tracks. She tried to go around him, but he continued to step in front of her, blocking her path, until she finally resigned herself to listening to him. "Why 'y bein' so…cold, _chere_?"

"Don' call meh that."

"Why no'?"

"Just don', alrahght?"

"Seems 'y don' mind th' perks. _Non_?"

"Shuddup, Gambit!"

Yes, things were getting more complicated than Rogue had intended. After all, the only reason he wanted her was because he couldn't have her. She had hoped that maybe by getting a taste—a second taste—of the forbidden fruit that maybe he would leave things well enough alone. After all, he couldn't actually enjoy the splitting headache that came from that brief brush of their lips. Alas, no. Instead, it seemed to make him even more determined to have her, an impossible goal.

But the biggest problem was that it made her want him even more, too. Sure, she didn't really like having Remy's psyche tucked into the farthest corners of her mind, but she couldn't help but be attracted to him. He was charming and…kind, and she wanted him. Which was exactly why she needed to push him away. She couldn't afford to let him in anymore, because that was going to result in unpleasantness for both of them. If she killed him…the guilt would kill her, and death was not really on her list of priorities. She may have been a goth, but she really enjoyed breathing.

_So, 'y'd feel bad 'bout killin' Remy? _his voice said inside her head.

_Ah cain't even get away from yah in mah head? Please, Gambit, go away, _she answered his psyche.

_Anyt'in' fo' 'y, chere. _And then he tucked himself away in her mind. She sighed and began to walk faster, desperately trying to put some space between herself and Gambit. Unfortunately, he was considerably taller than her and could easily keep up. He didn't speak again, but she knew that he had that wolfish grin on his face. She could practically feel him smiling at her, but she kept right on walking.

As they approached the Professor's office, Remy ran ahead of her to open the door. She walked past with out a word, though her hands were itching to reach for his. If the Professor was shocked at the display of chivalry from Remy, he didn't let it show on his face. Rogue quickly sat in one of the chairs in front of his desk.

"Yah wanted ta speak with meh?" she asked.

"Actually, I would like to speak to both you and Gambit," the Professor answered. Remy took a seat next to Rogue, who was trying her best to hide her shock. She had been under the impression that Professor X only wanted to speak with her. Apparently, Gambit had left out some of the details. She glared at him, and he only smiled innocently in response.

"I would like to send the two of you on a reconnaissance mission," he explained. "Gambit, your experience in the Thieves Guild gives you plenty of training, and Rogue, you have proven many times your ability to hold your own on a mission. Also, I don't expect there to be any trouble. I don't want you to engage, just observe and report."

"Where are we goin'?" Rogue asked. Remy just sat silently and waited for all the details.

"The Friends of Humanity are staging a protest in Buffalo. I want you to follow them back to their headquarters after their protest. I have heard news of mutant disappearances in the city, and while I think it is far more likely to be someone else, I would like you two to do some investigating. Just to make sure."

"Meh? Ah don' exactly look lahke the type ta fit in," Rogue said. "Not ta mention, what 'bout Gambit's eyes? They'd notice 'em right off tha bat."

"Don' worry, chere, Remy already got a plan," Remy said, speaking for the first time since entering the office. Rogue rolled her eyes.

"'Cause yah're plans always go accordin' ta plan," she answered sarcastically.

"Rogue," the Professor said warningly.

"Alrahght. Let's hurry up an' do this so Ah can be home in time fo' dinnah."

Rogue rose from her chair and headed back towards her room to put on more covering clothes. After all, it wouldn't do well for her to accidentally brush against someone in a crowd and give them away. The Friends of Humanity—while not the worst thing she had ever seen—were not exactly about puppies and sunshine when it came to mutants. She also wanted to stay as covered as possible while working with Remy, because Lord only knows, he'd shown on more than one occasion that risk-taking didn't bother him a bit.

She quickly changed clothes and met him in the foyer of the mansion. He hadn't bothered to change at all, which didn't really surprise her. He could probably charm the birds from their nests.

"Yah wanna tell me what this plan is that yah've got?" she asked.

"Remy and Rogue are gonna fi' righ' in. Be part o' 'de protes' an' then follow 'em ta whereva 'dey be goin'. An' 'y a bit overdress'd don'cha t'ink, _chere_?" he asked, eyeing her outfit. She was wearing jeans and a white long-sleeved shirt [which she had to dig all the way to the back of the closet to find] and white gloves.

"Ah cain't jus' go without. If one of 'em bumps inta meh, it's all gone ta hell. B'sides, yah're in a trenchcoat."

"'Dat's 'cause Remy's go' _style,_" he answered. He opened the front door of the mansion and stepped outside to where his motorcycle was waiting. He strapped his staff to the side, climbed astride it and grinned wickedly at Rogue. She sighed and smiled before climbing on the back of it, but only after donning a helmet.

"Don' 'y trust Remy's drivin'?" he asked teasingly.

"Don't wanna drain yah dry while yah're drivin'."

He smiled at her sincerely. "'Y no' gonna hurt Remy."

"Jus' drive, Cajun." He grinned, revved the engine, and they took off towards Buffalo.

The ride was fairly long and Rogue found it far too tempting to rest her head against his back and loll off to sleep. Only her fear of falling off the motorcycle and the deafening drone of the engine kept her awake. They were halfway there before she realized that at some point in time, she had wrapped her arms around him and was clinging to him for dear life. Upon realizing what she was doing, she loosened her grip. She felt him snicker.

"Don' be 'shamed, _chere."_

"Ah'm not. I just don' wanna strangle yah ta death," she shouted over the noise of the engine.

"Wha'eva 'y say."

Despite her best efforts, she found herself clinging again a few minutes later. Instead of loosening her grip, this time she just held on tighter and fisted her hands in his trench coat. Remy felt her fists tighten in the front of his coat, and couldn't resist a genuine smile. He knew she was only this close to him because she had to be, but he was enjoying it nonetheless. He knew it probably would have been more convenient to bring two bikes or a car, but he couldn't resist his hormones and had decided on one bike. So far, he wasn't regretting the decision.

He was regretting their arrival in the city. There was a large, rowdy crowd gathered outside the courthouse, holding signs with various anti-mutant slogans. There was a man at the back of the crowd handing out signs to those who approached. Before he could notice them, Remy pulled Rogue onto a side street, pinning her against the side of a building.

"What are yah doin'?" she asked, startled. It didn't help that his chin was practically resting on her forehead.

"We should ge' our stories straight," he answered.

"Rahght. We just moved here frahm…"

"N'Awlins…ta take care o'---"

"Yah're aunt Mattie," Rogue finished. Remy nodded and unpinned her from the wall. Before stepping out into the street, they did one more clothes check. Remy made sure his sunglasses were in place, Rogue checked her gloves, and with one last glance at each other, they stepped out into the demonstration. Rogue was completely baffled at first when Remy started using his staff to feel around in front of him. Then she realized what was going on: he was pretending to be blind. It gave him an excuse to have his staff, as well as the sunglasses. She smiled at her partner's ingenuity.

The man handing out signs noticed them immediately and made his way to where they were standing, towards the back of the crowd. "Hi, nice to see you guys out supporting our cause. How are you?" he said, offering a sign rather than his hand.

"We're doin' just fahne. How're yah?" Rogue answered, taking the sign, despite the many protesting psyches in her head.

"You're not from around here, are you?" he asked, giving them the once over.

"Nah. Jus' moved frahm N'Awlins," Remy replied easily. He took Rogue's free hand in his, and she let him. Butterflies fluttered in her stomach at his touch. "Tante Mattie needed takin' care o'."

"Oh, family man, then. Well, we're glad you're here, trying to protect our families from the mutant threat." Then the man left to distribute his signs to other people.

"See, 'dat's no' so hard," Remy said with a grin. Rogue scowled at him, but didn't let go of his hand. The irony of the "family man" statement was not entirely lost on her.

"Now what?"

"We wait. Soon 'dis is gonna be over, and 'den we follow 'em."

"Ah mean, what do Ah do with this sign?" Rogue asked, holding up the sign that was in her hand.

"We try ta blend," he answered. He pulled the sign from her hand and held it up, looking just like the rest of the people in the angry crowd. Rogue didn't like it one bit. There was something strangely foreboding about seeing one of her own—a mutant—protest against mutants, even if it was for the sake a of a mission. She still didn't like it at all.

* * *

They were both hot and sticky beyond belief, and it seemed that this rally was never going to end. The longer it dragged on, the tighter their grip got on each other's hand. Despite the heat, and the fact that both of them were wearing gloves, they never let go. The biggest problem was that things were threatening to get out of hand, especially when one of the county council members and main proponents against any type of mutant registration exited the building. Things became even more heated. The crowd grew thicker and closer and more rambunctious, eventually spilling past the barriers that had been put up. Despite clinging to Remy's hand, they were pulled apart in the commotion. She tried to find him again, but couldn't. There was so much commotion and noise and it was hot. She hated herself for it, but she began to panic.

_Calm down, chere. It's gonna be fine. _Remy's voice echoed in her head. For the first time since she had absorbed him, she was glad of that voice in her head. She pushed back the rising panic and tried to find her partner.

"Remy!" she called. She got no answer. "Remy!"

"We've got us a mutie!" Suddenly, a few yards from where she was standing, there was a gasp and several shouts of alarm. Hoping that she was wrong, but knowing that she wasn't, Rogue ran towards the noise, knowing that Remy was at the heart of all the action. Sure enough, he was.

In the commotion, his sunglasses had been knocked off and crushed under foot. With nothing to shield his red-on-black eyes anymore, the crowd had immediately identified him as a mutant and turned on the man. Most people were keeping their distance, unsure of what to do, but others were up close, hitting and kicking at him. The man they had run into earlier, who had been distributing signs, noticed Rogue watching.

"She was with him!" he cried, pointing to her. "She was with the mutie! She's one too!"

Before she had time to register what was going on, someone grabbed her and threw her to the ground. The side of her face slammed into the rough asphalt of the road, and she could feel her skin tear. She quickly sprang to her feet and took a defensive stance against the encroaching crowd. Gambit did the same, pulling several cards from his pocket and charging them. He quickly threw them, hoping that the explosion would give them plenty of cover to make an exit.

The explosion was plenty large enough, and he grabbed Rogue's hand and dragged her along behind him as he ran towards where they had parked the bike. There were several loud noises, people yelling, cars honking…the noise of chaos. Before they turned the corner to where the motorcycle was parked, he felt a sharp, burning pain in his shoulder that brought him to the ground.

"Remy!" Rogue dropped to her knees beside him. He was curled on his side in pain, and she turned him on his back to see what was going on. She was completely disturbed to find that her white gloves were soaked red with his blood. "Oh mah Gawd! Remy!"

Even as the pain tore through him in agonizing waves, he tried to get to his feet, but was unable to do so. He was dizzy and in pain and Rogue was screaming…She shouldn't be screaming. That implied that she was defenseless, and his Rogue was not defenseless. What happened? Why was his shoulder…He reached up and touched his shoulder, and felt the wetness of the blood on his fingertips. There was a hole clean through his shoulder. Shot. He'd been shot.

"Remy! Come on, get up. We gotta go," Rogue was saying. She was trying to pull him to his feet, to get him on the motorcycle so they could get the hell out of here, but she couldn't get him up. He was trying, bless his heart, but his body didn't want to cooperate. "Come on, swamp rat. There's tahme for layin' around latta."

"'Y go. Can' seem ta…get up," Remy said from the pavement. He grabbed at his staff, but pain radiated down from his shoulder as he tried to hold the staff. In desperation, Rogue made one final attempt at picking him up, and succeeded. She slowly began moving towards safety, but it wasn't fast enough, and Gambit knew it. "Rogue, 'y go."

"Nope. Ah'm not leavin' yah," she answered, her voice determined. He could see the mob getting closer, and knew that if she didn't drop him, they were both going to get caught in the violence that was coming.

"Rogue, Remy's gon' be fahne. Go on back ta 'da mansion an' get help. An' Rogue…Remy lov—" Before he could finish his sentence, she brushed her lips across his forehead in a brief, gentle kiss. There was the familiar sensation of absorption, and his thoughts began running through her mind. One of those thoughts was pretty disturbing: he had no intention of getting out of this scrape. And knowing that, she couldn't leave him behind. Not that she would have left him behind. She continued trying to get him back to the motorcycle, but was stopped, when something hit her square in the center of her back. She kept moving until something hit her again. Worried for Remy, who was looking paler by the second, she gently set him down, propped against the side of a building, and turned to face their attackers, Remy's staff clutched in her hands.

"Rogue, damnit! Go!" Remy continued gasping.

She was trained in martial arts and self defense. She had survived thousands of Logan's Danger Room sessions, but still, it was a loosing battle. With Remy out of commission, there wasn't a whole lot that she could do. Her power required that they be close enough to touch her, and that meant close enough to hurt him. Also, somewhere, someone had a gun, and that was a loose cannon she didn't know how to deal with. But she did the best she could. She pulled off her bloodstained gloves and tucked them into her pocket before taking everyone that charged her.

Problem was, martial arts were no good against a taser. With a few shocks, she was unconscious on the ground, right next to Remy, and at the mercy of the most intolerant anti-mutant groups the world had ever seen.

* * *

**Author's Note:** So, there you have it. Chapter one. I hope you enjoyed it. Whatever your feelings, please let me know so that I can fix any issues. Thanks. Oh, and Happy Easter!!


	2. Waking Up

**Author's Note:** Okay, here is the second chapter. Thanks to everyone for taking some interest in this. Please, give me some feedback on it so that I know what to fix and all that sort of thing. Thanks!  


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A pain in her neck brought Rogue back to the land of the living. She awoke flat on her back in a tiny room—if it could even be called that. It was more like a tiny, metal-lined closet, from what she could see. It was very dark; a single incandescent light bulb hung from the ceiling, casting shadows all across the room. The ceiling itself was very low; she was only able to stand up because she was under six feet tall. Remy wouldn't be able to stand up straight without hitting his head. Remy…Where was Remy?

"Remy? Remy!" she yelled. The echo of her voice off the walls was deafening and she immediately stopped yelling. Panic rose within her; her heart began racing in her chest. Her breaths became shallow and quick, and her blood was pounding in her ears. Where was Remy? Was he okay? He had been…oh, God…

_Calm down, chere. _Remy's voice echoed through her mind.

"Right," she answered aloud. She stopped to take in the details of her prison more carefully. The room was tiny and metal-lined. There was a heavy, probably steel door with no inside knob, and a tiny window. Embedded in the glass were steel wires in a criss-crossing pattered. Rogue knew exactly what it was designed for: it kept people from breaking and reaching through the glass. It was _containing _her.

There was nothing in the room except a five gallon bucket with no handle. It was to serve for her toilet, she realized. She was supposed to use the bathroom in that bucket. Ugh. On the bright side, thought, they expected her to use the bathroom…which implied that they would keep her around. That was encouraging…maybe.

She took a deep breath and pulled herself to her feet. Everything ached, from her head all the way to the tips of her toes. Her hands were swollen and bloody, but they didn't appear to be broken. She lifted her shirt and studied her belly, only to find it covered with purple splotchy bruises. With each movement, she discovered a new pain that different but just as bad as all the rest.

The worst of it, though, was her neck. With no mirror in the room, she couldn't be one-hundred percent sure what was around her neck, but she had a pretty good idea. It was a thick metal collar that would inhibit her powers. Under any other circumstance, she probably would have been okay with the collar, especially if it gave her the opportunity to touch someone else without worrying about killing them. Now, however, they had taken the one weapon that she had.

_Not da only one, chere. 'Y can fight. _

"Ah know that," she answered shortly. As soon as the words were out of her mouth, she immediately began to feel bad about them. Remy was hurt somewhere, and she was snapping at his psyche. "But this colla' is uncomf'table. It pinches." He chuckled in her mind. She couldn't resist a half-mad chuckle herself. With the chuckle, pain shot through her neck.

The pain only served to bring her worry about Remy to the forefront of her mind. She had obviously been beaten, and God only knows what they had done to him. He had been bleeding, and now…she desperately hoped that he hadn't been treated as she had. He had lost a lot of blood, and if they had reopened that wound, he would lose more…worry gnawed at her stomach until she could stand it no more and it poured out of her mouth.

"Remy!" she called again. The sound reverberated through the tiny space and hurt her ears, but she took it. Hopefully, wherever he was, he could hear her yelling and know that she was alive and okay. She stopped for a moment, hoping to heave an answer, but was met with only silence. "Remy!" Nothing.

Frustration and pain brought her to her knees. She continued to yell until her throat was sore, and her ears felt as if they would bleed. When she could shout no more, she balled her swollen hands into fists and started beating against the walls. It sent shooting pains up her arms from her battered hands, but she continued anyway. Desperation overwhelmed her. She needed to know about Remy, and she needed him to know that she was there, that she hadn't abandoned him here. If that meant pain for her, so be it. Despite her efforts, she still got no response of any kind.

Tears streamed down her cheeks from both pain and frustration. But what made the situation the worst was being alone. When she stopped making noise, the silence was deafening, and it ate away at her. Remy had a way of filing the silence—even if it was with obnoxious, meaningless chatter—that made her feel like she belonged. He kept her from feeling alone, which was something she desperately needed at times. Of course, that meant that the obnoxious, seemingly meaningless chatter wasn't all that meaningless after all. It was his was of showing her that he cared…he cared enough to sit in isolation with her. And she had pushed him away.

With a sigh, she slid down the wall and held the toilet-bucket to her chest, just to hold something, just to have something close to her. It didn't comfort her as much as she would have liked…it really wasn't that comforting at all, mostly because she didn't want a cold, hard bucket. Sleek, hard muscles would have been far more comforting. She wanted Remy.

It was irrational to want him near, and she knew this. It wasn't like she could actually draw comfort from his touch, because she couldn't—or shouldn't—touch him. He had been shot and was probably weak enough already without her sapping his strength with her poisonous touch. But at least she would have someone to talk to. Plus, two heads were better than one, and they could hatch a plan to get the damn collar off and get the hell out of there.

There was a long, cold silence as she just sat there, clutching her bucket. After a while, she lost track of time. It wasn't difficult, because time really had no meaning there anymore. It all just ran together. Sleep might have overtaken her at some point, but there was no way to be sure. There was no way to mark the passage of time, and she didn't really feel very sleepy. She felt…bored. She had never understood the expression "bored to tears" until then. Or maybe that was the worry that was causing it. Whatever the reason, the boredom or the worry, she was crying, and none too happy about it.

For someone who prided herself on having control of her emotions, she sure didn't have it right now. To break the monotony of the cell, and in an attempt to get her crying under control, she stood and began to pace the tiny space of her cell. After the first thirty turns about the space, she began to talk to herself.

"What are they doing? And where tha hell is Remy?"

_Chere, calm down. Everyt'in's gonna be alrigh'_, Remy's psyche said in her head.

"Where are you?" she asked.

_In 'y head. _He chuckled at his cheeky answer.

"Rahght. In mah head."

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a flash of movement outside her window. She rushed to the door and looked out the window to see two large, hulking men walking down the hallway, armed to the teeth. They both had batons tucked into their belts. One held a cattle prod in one hand, the other a large submachine gun. They continued down the hallway until she could see them no more.

They were only out of view for a few minutes before they reappeared, carrying Gambit between them. Rogue gasped as she saw his bruised and battered face. He was shirtless, though he still wore his bloodstained trench coat. It was open just enough for her to see that his shoulder had been bandaged—and hopefully cleaned, though she was less sure about that bit. His red-on-black eyes were half-lidded with pain, though they widened in shock as he saw her staring at him through the window of her cell. She noticed that he also wore a strange collar.

"Rem—Gambit!" she yelled, banging on the glass. "Gambit!"

He made an effort to escape, though it was not a strong one thanks to weakness brought on by blood loss. His captors quickly subdued him by slamming him into the door of Rogue's room. His face pressed against her window, and she pressed her cheek to his against the glass. He gave her a brave smile, and she could have sworn that she saw him mouth "I love 'y," though he was pulled away to quickly for her to respond.

"Gambit!" she continued to yell long after he had disappeared from view. He had definitely seen better days, but at least she knew that he was alive, and he didn't appear to be in any immediate danger from his injuries. The gunshot wound must have been a flesh wound, though all she could remember was the blood. Of course, it was entirely possible that she her situation was making her think of things more negatively than they actually were.

Not that she didn't have a good reason to think of things in a negative light. After all, she was being held captive in a darkened room by mutant haters…that wasn't exactly a reason to be jumping for joy. And Remy was hurt. That was the worst of it. She hated that she was injured, but the fact that Remy was injured was what made it worse. He was…she had never thought of him getting injured (except by her own hand), and now he was. The sheer hopelessness of it made her want to cry again.

But she wasn't going to do that. She wasn't going to cry. Instead, she was going to figure out some way to get out of there, and right now, the only option that seemed to be available to her was the window. There was no way that she could ever possibly fit through there, but she could reach through and open the door. Without any further thoughts, she began banging with all her strength on the glass. It shattered after the first four hits, and in another three, she saw blood on the glass.

"Wire. Damn," she whispered, studying her newly-sliced hands. Her eyes fell upon the toilet-bucket in the corner. Her mouth set in a determined line, she picked up the bucket and continued to beat away at the window, busting the wire, which was weaker than she had thought it was going to be. She reached through the broken window and turned the door knob.

Then a hand closed on her wrist, and pulled, hard. She was slammed into the door, the breath knocked out of her. As she tried to catch her breath, she felt the metal collar tighten around her neck, leaving her gasping for air. Blackness swam at the edge of her vision. It was like the lights were fading out on the movie of her life. She clawed at the collar, trying to get it off, or loosen it somehow, but it didn't budge. Instead, it continued to strangle the life out of her.

Someone was picking her up, and she knew that she should fight them. After all, she had martial arts training; it wasn't like she was a helpless damsel in distress. Her brain was sending commands to her muscles, telling her legs to kick, her arms to punch, but her body didn't want to cooperate with her mind. Whoever invented the saying "mind over matter" was lying.

_C'mon, chere…'y gotta figh'! _

"Remy…" His name slipped past her lips. There was the sound of the door scraping open. Someone was picking her up, and she twisted and thrashed, trying not to let them hold her. Her strength was waning though, and she was little more than just a bother to them.

"She busted the window," a man's voice said. "We'll put her with the other one until we can get the window fixed."

"Have we catalogued their mutations?" a feminine voice asked.

"First thing we did when we brought them here. We had to wait on the other one to wake up before we could get his, though."

"Good. Put her in the other holding cell…and take the bucket." All the voices sounded so far away, but she knew that she had to pay attention to what they were saying. It could be important to escaping. Also, the collar loosened just enough so that she could get some air, though she had to struggle to do so. Whoever was holding her—she figured it was the man—carried her down the hallway to another cell, and dropped her none-too-gently on the floor. The door slammed behind him as he left.

"Wait! Wait!" she called—well, croaked—after him. A split second later, his face appeared in the window. He had warm, brown eyes and heavy, black eyebrows. His square jaw was covered with light stubble. Rogue could tell that his nose had been broken—quite possibly more than once. If not for the monstrosity of a nose—oh yeah, and the kidnapping factor—he might have been attractive. "Where's Gambit?"

"The other mutant?" he asked. His disgust was blatantly obvious as the word 'mutant' crossed his lips. Despite it, she nodded anyway, her want for information overcoming her fear. "He's with the doctor."

"Tha doctah? Is he alrahght?"

"He'll be fine." Then he walked away.

"Fahne? Just fahne? What does that mean?" she called after him. This time he didn't return to answer her question. He would be fine. That was good. Well, she hoped that was good. Of course, this was coming from a man who had kidnapped them, so he really wasn't the most reliable source. Until she saw him, and spoke to him, she knew that she would worry.

This room was about the same size as the one she had been in before. The same low ceiling, the same heavy door with no inside handle. This room, however, was filled with light. There were a half-dozen florescent light bulbs running the length of the room, and the walls had been painted white to reflect the light. It was practically blinding, and Rogue found it easier just to keep her eyes shut.

It must have been awful for Remy. His eyes were already very light sensitive, and all this light wouldn't make it any easier. Then she realized that this must have been done on purpose. They had talked about "cataloguing their mutations." They must have realized that Remy's eyes were adapted to dark and put him in this room to keep him blinded.

Sometime later—she could be sure how much later—the door opened and Remy was dropped unceremoniously to the floor. Rogue rushed to his side, too preoccupied by his condition to even consider escaping. Not to mention, Remy would be dead weight, and while she was a pretty strong girl, there was no way that she could carry Remy and fight off any security that she was sure they had.

She knelt beside him and took in his condition. His shoulder was bandaged, but the bandage was bloody and gross. Before she touched him, she pulled on her gloves—more out of habit than anything else. She pulled back the bandage to see an angry, swollen wound that had been crudely stitched together. It was hot to the touch, and that was through her bloodstained glove. Infection. Gross.

"Remy?" she said softly. For the first time, she got a really good look at his face. One of his eyes was practically swollen shut and there was massive bruising across hi face. Somehow, by some stroke of good fortune, his nose hadn't been broken despite the apparent beating. Blood was caked at the corner of his mouth, apparently from a split lip. He looked awful, and that was just his face.

"Remy?" This time, she got a response, albeit in the form of a pain-filled moan. Her heart ached at his pain, and she immediately felt bad for waking him, but then she reminded herself that if he had a concussion, that was probably a good thing. And judging from the state of the bruises on his face, he probably had a concussion. He started to open his eyes, but immediately pulled them closed to shut out the light.

"Rogue?" he managed. His voice was the same hoarse croak that hers was, which told her that he, too, had been victim of the collar.

"Yeah, swamp rat, it's meh."

"Wha' 'y doin' here?"

"Kidnapped, remember?"

"In here, 'dis room, _cherie._"

"Ah broke tha window in mah door, and they didn't want meh escapin', so here Ah am."

Despite his obvious pain, he grinned at that. He hadn't even thought about that, not when he first woke up. All he could think about was the fact that his shoulder hurt like _hell. _He had been hurt before—it came with the X-man job, and the master thief job as well—but before he hadn't also been worrying about another person. Worry for Rogue had eaten away at him until they came and took him away.

"Remy? What happened? Ya didn't look this bad when Ah saw yah earlier."

"No' sure. 'Dey gave meh drugs. Its all kinda fuzzy."

"Rahght. Well…we're just gonna hafta figure somethin' out."

"_Chere, _Remy ain' no good lahke 'dis," he groaned. She felt something brush against her hand. He was reaching for her, needing something to hold, for comfort. She took his hand in her smaller, glove-covered one, intertwining her fingers with his. With the other hand, she stroked his face. He turned towards her touch, reveling in it.

"Yah should try ta stay awake, if yah can. If yah got a concussion, yah shouldn't be sleepin'." He just nodded. "Here, can yah sit up against tha wall?" Again, he nodded. She had to help him up, and prop him against the wall, and even then, he leaned heavily on her. The drugs were still affecting him very strongly.

Absentmindedly, she ran her fingers through his hair. He reached up and caught her hand, and slowly pulled off her glove. Violently, she pulled her hand from his grip, shaking her head fiercely.

"No," she said firmly.

"Yes," he answered clearly. "Remy trusts 'y. An' 'y ain' got yo' powers."

"Rahght. Collar." With that worry out of her mind, she began to run her fingers through his hair, and for the first time, felt another human being. His hair was probably soft when they left the mansion, but now it was sweaty and gross, with a bit of blood mixed in. Not content just to feel his hair, she let herself run her hands over the contours of his face. His cheekbones, his jaw line…the slight stubble was incredible. His skin was…it was all so perfect, in spite of the bruises and swelling.

She continued to run her fingers over his face, until she accidentally brushed against his swollen eye. His jaw tightened as he tried—and failed—to hold back a swear word.

"Ah'm sorry!" she cried.

"Don' worry 'bout it."

"Ah shouldn't be doin' this."

"It helps," he whispered. Unable to stop herself, Rogue gently kissed his forehead and pulled him closer to her. His head rested on her shoulder as she ran her fingers through his hair. It was good to have him so close, even if he wasn't in the best of shape. At least he was with her.

"Ah know. It helps meh, too," she told him. It wasn't long before he had drifted off to sleep, despite her best efforts to keep him awake. She figured he needed the sleep. Rogue could wake him up soon to make sure everything was okay, but in the meantime, she wondered where the hell they were, and how would they get out?

* * *

**Author's Note:** So, there you have it. I hope you enjoyed it. I'll try to update fairly regularly, but finals are coming up, so I'll do the best I can. Please review!! Please!


	3. You're the Doctor, I presume?

**Author's Note: **A huge, huge thank-you to everyone who read, reviewed, alerted, etc. That warms my soul. Here is another chapter, which I hope begins to answer some questions, and I hope you enjoy.  


* * *

She had heard that if someone had a concussion you were supposed to wake them up every two hours. Unfortunately, there was no way to tell time, so Rogue woke him up when she got too nervous to let him sleep anymore. Each time, Remy would blink the sleep from his eyes, shut them against the bright light, and then open them long enough to answer her questions before going back to sleep. He looked so innocent in his sleep, despite the darkening bruises on his face. She noticed that he started shivering, so she pulled his coat tighter around him and buttoned it up.

Her body was aching, and her head hurt even worse. She wanted to know what they had done to him, but there were no details to be gotten from Remy. They said they had taken him to the doctor, but she had a snaking suspicion that this "doctor" wasn't worth a damn. Each of the psyches in her head had a different theory of what had happened, and they were all trying to make their presence known. Add to that her own thoughts: what she knew, what she didn't know, and what she wanted to know…it was a mass of confusion in her mind, and all she wanted was a little _quiet_…She closed her eyes, trying to block it all out. The floor was cold and hard, and she was shivering, but she didn't care. Maybe if she could pay more attention to the discomfort of her complaining body, it would distract from everything that was running rampant in her mind.

Sleep was tugging at the edges of her mind. Until then, worry and pain had been keeping sleep at bay, but she wasn't really sure how much longer she could fight it. She needed to; she needed to stay awake to keep an eye on Remy. But she was so _cold _and _tired _and there was no room in her head for all the voices that were crying for her attention…

For just a second, her eyes drifted shut. When they opened again, someone was laying beside her, pressed against her back, an arm slung over her waist. She didn't want to pull away. They were so warm and she was comfortable for the first time in…how long had it been? Well, she had never been this comfortable with another human being since…since Cody, and that had been a very long time ago. She snuggled closer.

"'Y alrigh', _chere_?" As he spoke, his arm tightened around her. She nodded.

"Yeah. Ah didn't mean ta fall asleep…there's just so much goin' on in mah head…"

"De collar don' dull 'dat?" Remy asked.

"No. They're all still up there."

"Who 'y got in 'dere?"

"Too many…anyone Ah've evah touched. Logan…"

"Remy?"

"Yeah, yah in there, too." His lips brushed her temple and she shivered. All these little touches would have been impossible without the damn collar, and while she hated the circumstances, she couldn't deny that she wouldn't ever have this any other way. With that knowledge, she turned to face him, and twined her arms (very carefully) around his neck. "Yah're not bein' very quiet, though."

That wasn't a lie. Remy's psyche was going nuts, telling to her do all sorts of outrageous things to his physical counterpart. Some of them made her smile, and some of them made her wonder how in the world that was physically possible. Pushing him to the back of her mind, she focused on the man beside her. As gently as possible, she laid a light, chaste kiss on each of his bruises. He didn't flinch, which was a good sign. Instead, he pulled her closer and kissed her lightly on the forehead.

"Yah know we'd nevah be able ta do this if it weren't fo' these collars," she said. He froze.

"Don' 'y be grateful to 'dem, _chere. _ Dey're de ones dat are tryin' ta hurt us."

"Yah can't remember anything?" she asked again. He shook his head.

"Remy remembers tryin' ta get to 'y, but dat's it." They pulled each other closer, though Rogue didn't miss the hitch in his breathing as she her fingers brushed over his bruises. She tried to pull away, but he stopped her. "_Non. _ Don'—"

"Yah're hurtin'," she said.

"Don' mattah." He turned onto his back and tucked her against his side, her head resting on his chest. "Ah need 'y near." His heartbeat was strong and steady, which was a comfort to her. He stroked her hair gently, taking special care with her, as though she might break.

"How're we gonna get outta here?" she asked.

"We cain't do anything 'til we get dese collars off, so we start dere."

"There has ta be some kinda control for 'em, rahght? So it's a matter of gettin' the control."

"Remy hasn't seen da control. Gotta find it first."

"Find the control. Then we've gotta actually get outta here. We hafta have a plan for that," she said, thinking of any possible plan. The problem was, they had been unconscious when they were brought in, and had no idea what the layout of this place was. The only way to get any type of layout was to observe when they were being taken to…wherever they were being taken. That didn't really seem like an option that she wanted to pursue. And neither of them was at full strength, either. Things definitely weren't in their favor right now.

Her thoughts were interrupted by the sound of footsteps outside the door. Immediately, the two captives jerked themselves upright, though they did not let go of each other. Remy pulled Rogue tighter against him, determined to keep her with him at all costs. The door opened, and the same two large men that had taken Remy away earlier stepped into the room.

"You…with the stripes. Come with us," the taller of the two commanded. Remy's grip on her became almost painfully tight, and she tightened hers on him as well. When Rogue did not move, they asked—if it could be called asking—again. "Hey, girl, come on. If you come willingly, we won't have to use the collar."

She shook her head violently, determined not to go. Also, if they had to use the collar, that meant they had to pull out the control and then she would know what it looked like. Instead of moving, she sat stone still. Remy positioned himself between Rogue and their captors, though still kept his grip on her.

The shorter man pulled a small, silver control from his pocket and pressed a button. Immediately, Rogue felt the collar begin to tighten around her neck, and she began gasping for breath. Distracted by her distress, Remy turned his back on the two men and began tugging at the collar. Of course he didn't have the strength to get it off her, but she was gasping and it was killing him to see her like that.

"Stop 'dis!" he begged—for there really was no other word for what he was doing. Remy LeBeau was a proud man, and he hated begging most of all (except maybe in the bedroom…), but it was Rogue's life, and that was well worth begging for. "Please!" He could feel her going limp in his arms. There was a far away look in her eyes that he didn't like. Her gasps were sickening.

"Rogue…c'mon, 'y gotta stay wid Remy, 'y hear?" She smiled at the sound of his voice and reached for him. Twining her fingers in his hair, she pulled him down to her and kissed him. It was everything that she had imagined kisses were supposed to be: fierce and filled with a white-hot passion. There was an edge of desperation in it, as well, and a feeling that she would never get enough of him. She just wanted him _closer, _but she needed to _breathe…_

He pulled away, afraid of smothering her. She was still clinging to him the best she could, and he was surprised to hear her taking deep breaths. The collar had loosened just enough for her to breathe. He pulled her onto his lap, determined not to let them take her away from him.

"'Y okay, _chere_?"

She nodded silently and kissed him again. This kiss was just as passionate as the first, but after several minutes, he felt the familiar draining sensation that usually accompanied such a kiss. Rogue pulled away, but he wouldn't let go. He entwined their fingers, desperate to keep a hold on her, despite the draining.

"Don' let go," he whispered, though the world was beginning to go black.

"Ah hafta…yah'll die..."

She pulled her fingers from his, and seconds later, one of the men had a tight grip on her waist. Remy was having convulsions on the floor, and no one was going to help him. She had to help him. They were just going to leave him there and let nature (or whatever her mutation could be contributed to) take its course. He could die and they were just going to let it happen. She struggled for all she was worth, trying to get back to Remy, but her collar was tightening again.

"Remy! Remy!" Despite knowing that it wouldn't help, she kept calling his name. "He could die. Yah hafta help him. Please…"

Her earlier plan had called for getting a layout of the place, but most of that idea had gone out the window the minute that Remy had started convulsing. Still, she paid a slight bit of attention to where she was being taken. They were being held in a room off a long hallway. At the end of the hallway, they turned left, and then took another right into a big room.

It looked like a medical facility. There was all sorts of equipment, some of which she recognized. Heart monitors and a defibrillator…that part didn't really sit well with her. Why would they need to restart her heart? Of course, there were gurneys all over the place, all of which had thick leather straps to hold the patient down. Trays upon trays of surgical instruments were lying about. If she hadn't been feeling uneasy before now—which she had—she was definitely feeling that way now.

In the middle of the room, holding a syringe, was the same man who had been distributing signs at the protest. He looked considerably more threatening…white lab coats and creepy smiles would do that to a person. He was probably the doctor that they had mentioned earlier…the one who had done a shit job patching up her Remy. Yes, she got the distinct impression that things had just gone from bad to worse. She also sincerely hoped that things didn't go from worse to _the worst. _

"Please…he's having convulsions…he needs to be seen ta…please…" She continued to try to get help for Remy, even as they strapped her onto one of the gurneys. Her brain was telling her to run, kick, hit…to do anything but be still and take it. Unfortunately, her body just wasn't cooperating with her brain. It probably had something to do with the lack of oxygen.

The doctor raised an eyebrow and looked to his two flunkies questioningly. "They didn't want to let go of one another, so we activated her…mutation. The male wouldn't let go and is now in convulsions in his cell," one of them answered.

"We can't afford to lose another specimen. Bring him here," the doctor answered. A chill ran down Rogue's spine at his words. For one, she wasn't really very happy with being thought of as a specimen, and two…they couldn't afford to lose another one? That definitely wasn't sitting very well with her at all. The collar had loosened, though, so at least she could breathe now.

"Yah're the doctah, Ah presume? Yah were behind the disappearing mutants in the area," she said, trying to keep her voice calm.

"I'm trying to find a way to keep society safe from the…mutant threat," he answered.

"We're not a threat ta yah!"

"Really? You're not a threat? Is that why my boys are getting your boyfriend out of his cell? Because you're not a threat? You sent him into convulsions."

"There are ways ta guard against that."

"And him…he can turn anything into a deadly projectile. What if he decides to use those powers for something other than good?"

"He won't," she answered indignantly. Of course, he had used his powers for…not-good. Evil was too strong a term. He was a master thief, but he had been using those skills for good since he had joined the X-men. So he was definitely working for good these days. That is, when he wasn't in the med bay recovering from one of her toxic kisses. In her defense, it had only been one kiss, and he had…stolen it, for lack of better term.

"You can't guarantee that," he replied stubbornly.

"He's more a force of good than yah are. At least he ain't killing innocent mutants."

"I'm protecting the populace from…creatures like you!"

Their conversation was cut short when Remy was carried in. He had stopped convulsing, but she could see blood on his face. Had they roughed him up on the way, or had he slammed his head against the floor? Either way, guilt tore through her. If she had just kept her lips to herself…

"We'll have to monitor him, but his pupils are responsive," the doctor said, shining a light into Remy's red-on-black eyes. Rogue cringed…his eyes were meant for dark, and that had to hurt. Well, it would if he could feel it.

"Do we have all the data we need from him?" one of the thugs asked.

"I would like to do more tests," the doctor responded.

"What kinda tests?" Rogue demanded, trying to keep the panic out of her voice.

"You mutants have all sorts of interesting characteristics. You have a tendency to be more healthy, high endurance…I was just wondering how far those limits can be pushed."

"Yah mean lahke Josef Mengele?" Rogue asked bitterly. She didn't really pay that much attention in school, but she did remember him. The Nazi doctor who had performed thousands of experiments on the people in concentration camps had stuck in her thoughts. She remembered him mostly because she always wondered if things would come to that. Apparently, they had.

"Who?"

"The Nazi doctah."

"Of course not. These will actually help people. Like you're mutation, for example. You absorb the energy of the people you touch. Think of what I could do with that if I was able to put that in the next generation of mutant control collars," he answered, coming to stand over her. He had quite a long needle in his hand, and fear tore through her. Her heart was pounding and breathing grew rapid and shallow. Yes, adrenaline was rushing through her veins. Unfortunately, it was nothing against the leather straps that were holding her down.

"If we were able to absorb and control mutant powers…think of what we could do," he said, his voice oddly dreamy.

"That's not how mah power works…ta absorb someone's powers permanently, it'll kill 'em."

"I don't really see how that's a problem…"

* * *

Logan was pacing outside Professor X's office. Gambit and Rogue had been missing for two days, which was two days longer than he liked. Stripes was a responsible girl, and if they were going to be on an extended mission, she would have found some way to let them know what was going on. Instead, they hadn't heard a damn thing from them since they left to go on their mission. This was definitely not sitting well with him. Not at all.

It had been stupid to send Gambit and Rogue. He could almost understand the former thief, because he could sneak in and out of places and not be seen. However, as far as blending in went, Gambit really wasn't the best option they had. His red and black eyes would be a dead give away if the sun glasses came off. Also, it was the middle of summer, and Rogue had to cover up from head to toe. No, it probably would have been better to send someone else.

Not that he hadn't told the professor this. He had been at the Professor's door expressing his worry (very vehemently) since the first evening they hadn't returned. Jean and Scott had joined him outside the Professor X's door to add their opinion to Logan's. While they were very concerned about their peers, but they were also beginning to get concerned about surviving their Danger Room sessions. It seemed that as Logan got more worried about Rogue and Gambit, the harder the sessions became. Scott was nursing a burnt hand from this morning's session and Jean had a nasty bruise on her jaw.

"Professor," Jean called through the heavy oak door. "Can we come in, please?"

_You may. _His voice echoed through their heads. For Jean and Scott, it really wasn't anything out of the ordinary. They had been around him since they were young. Logan, however, had lived many years without another person's voice in his mind, and he liked it quiet in there.

Scott pushed open the door and the three of them entered the room. Jean and Scott took chairs across from the Professor. Logan was too tense to sit, and opted to stand and pace instead. His pacing was doing nothing to help the two younger mutants focus on what they were trying to say to Professor X.

"Sir, we're getting very concerned about Rogue and Gambit. They should have been back by now," Jean said.

"They should have been back the evening that they left," Logan growled from behind them. Jean tensed in her chair. A combination of tension, worry, and aggravation were rolling off him in waves. It didn't take a telepath to see that.

"They were on a reconnaissance mission. It could take longer than originally expected," the Professor answered calmly.

"Rogue isn't going to go this long without some type of communication, especially with Gambit being a bit…reckless," Scott piped up. "We feel that it wouldn't be amiss if you used Cerebro to try to locate them."

Logan pulled a newspaper from his back pocket and slammed it on the desk in front of Xavier. It was a local newspaper from Syracuse, and in the bottom left-hand corner, there was a tiny blurb about a protest with the Friends of Humanity that had turned violent. In the picture, they could see the motorcycle that Rogue and Gambit had left on, with Gambit's staff laying on the pavement beside it.

"Gambit may be reckless, but he would never leave his staff behind. They're tough, but if they got caught off guard by a crowd of violent protesters, there's no telling what could happen. We need to find them, and we need to get moving _now." _

Xavier took in the picture for a split second and began moving. As much as he had hoped that Rogue and Remy were okay, there was evidence to the contrary, and he couldn't overlook that. "Logan, go get the Blackbird ready. Jean, Scott, get Storm and the rest of a team. Quickly, please. We can't waste time." The two former students took off. "I'll use Cerebro," he said to Logan, who was already walking away from him.

"Yeah…about damn time," he answered under his breath. He only hoped that Rogue and Remy weren't paying the price for the professor's mistake.

* * *

**Author's Note: **So, there it is. I hope it was worth the wait. Please let me know what you think. Feedback=super amazingness.


	4. Different Types of Pain

**Author's Note: **Thank you so so so much to everyone who read/reviewed/favorited, etc. That was a piece of sunshine in my dreary day. Here is the next chapter. I hope it was worth the wait. And as a warning...it does get a little violent, so...be warned. Enjoy!  


* * *

When he finally awoke, Remy saw that the situation had gotten infinitely worse. Rogue was strapped to a gurney a few feet away, and an oddly familiar man was leaning over her drawing blood. She wasn't resisting, which was perhaps the worse part of the whole situation. It wasn't like Rogue not to fight back…where was that feisty Southern belle that he loved so much?

"It's nice to have you with us…it's Remy, right?" the man asked. Then Remy recognized him as the man from the rally. Rage tore through him at the sight of Rogue's unusually pale face, her eyes half-shut and heavy lidded. There were needle marks in her arms, and several vials of blood were on a tray nearby, and the nasty feeling in his gut was telling him that it was Rogue's. Rage tore through him at seeing her that way. It was wrong in more ways than he could count.

"Whad'y do ta her?" he demanded, unable and unwilling to keep the rage out of his voice.

"Just took a little blood, that's all. It won't hurt her," the man replied.

"'Den why she lookin' lahke 'dat?"

"Too much…he took too much," Rogue managed. She wanted to be angry about it, but there just wasn't the energy for that. She was so tired and it seemed like even breathing took more effort than she was willing exert. It would have been so easy just to close her eyes and let it all go…just drift away into nothingness…

_Don' even think 'bout it, chere, _his voice said in her head.

_Ah'm so tired…if Ah fight, they're gonna hurt ya…Remy…real ya…_

'_Y can't think 'bout things lahke 'dat. 'Y gotta hang in 'dere. We're gonna get out of 'dis sooner o' later._

"Ah'd prefer soonah if yah don't mind," she said, not realizing that she had answered him aloud.

"Rogue? 'Y aligh'?" Remy asked from his gurney. The Doctor was staring at her as if she had just grown an extra head. The flunkies looked scared of her, instead of for her, as Remy was.

"Just a little fuzzy, that's all," she answered, but her voice was sluggish.

"'Y son o' a bitch! 'Y took too much. 'Y could kill her!" he shouted at the Doctor, who appeared to actually consider Remy's accusations. After several minutes of contemplation, he set down the syringe full of Rogue's blood and patted Remy on the arm, a grateful smile on his face.

"Thank you. I have to remember that I need her alive, in case the first prototype doesn't go right. I'll need her until I get the collar right," the Doctor said pleasantly.

"Prototype?"

"Oh, that's right, you were unconscious while your lady friend and I were discussing the issue. If I can channel her power into a collar or ring or any type of object, we could completely eliminate the mutant threat. But I need to keep her alive until I know that I have it right. You, however—"

"No," Rogue gasped weakly. "Don't." She already knew what they had in store for Remy. They had discussed it in great detail when he was still unconscious as a way of threatening her. Despite the restraints she fought and fought when he tried to draw her blood. Unfortunately, they weren't stupid people, and had quickly figured out what Remy meant to her…or at least part of it. She wasn't sure that anyone could figure out the complexity and depth of her feelings for him. But they knew she didn't want him hurt and they didn't hesitate to use that against her.

"Then you should cooperate, young lady," the Doctor answered. She snorted, her temper getting the better of her.

"Yah took so much, Ah'm nauseous. Ah'd say that's cooperatin'." She couldn't keep the disdain and anger out of her weak voice. Of course, the minute the words crossed her lips she regretted them.

"And I think that I'm seeing a decline in the cooperation," the Doctor said with a gesture to his thugs. Roughly, they pulled Remy's shoes and socks from his feet, despite—or perhaps because of—Rogue's protests.

"Please…Please don't. Whateva yah want…please…"

There was a strange clamp that looked oddly like a pair of pliers sitting on a tray of instruments near Remy. The larger thug (whom Remy had dubbed Thug A) grabbed them, and Remy's red eyes widened as he realized what they planned to do. Immediately, he started struggling, kicking his feet and thrashing from side to side, trying to escape. Thug A grabbed his feet and stopped him from moving while the smaller one—Thug B—jammed the clamp under his toenail. Remy bit his lip as he stared at Rogue, trying his best not to shout, even though it hurt like hell. Even when they plied the clamps open and pulled his toenail off, he grunted, unable to be completely unvocal in his pain. His grunts got louder with each toenail that was removed until there were none left.

"See what happens when you're not cooperative, Miss…was it Rogue?"

"Stop it! Stop hurtin' him!"

_Remy don' lahke ta see 'y beg, chere._

_He's hurtin'. Ah need him ta—_

_Don' beg. It's hurts Remy's soul—_

_They're hurtin' his body…that wins._

"You have to learn to cooperate with me, Miss Rogue. Now, tell me about your powers."

"_Non, chere—"_

"Mah skin is…deadly ta the touch. Ah absorb people's…lahfe force. If they're a mutant, Ah absorb their powers. If the contact is too long, it'll kill 'em. Ah got all the people Ah've eva touched with mah bare skin up in mah head…it sucks." As she spoke, she stared at Remy, as if drawing her strength from him. Still, despite all the pain he was in, he could only think of hers. In his eyes, it was far worse than his. He shook his head at her, his expression begging her not to say anymore.

"Thank you. That's all I really need to know. I'll just leave you four alone, shall I?" the Doctor said, taking notes on everything she had said. He was halfway out the door before he turned back to remind his flunkies, "Oh, and do be careful not to harm the female too much. We could need them both."

_'Y shouldn' talk. 'Dat's what 'dey want._

"Ah can't let 'em hurt ya," she said to him.

"'Dey goin'a do it anyway," he answered, just as breathlessly, right before they broke his big toe. He couldn't hold it in anymore, and when he screamed, Rogue screamed with him. As it continued, they never once broke each other's gaze. They were the force pulling themselves through the pain of it all. They couldn't block out the pain, but they could try to build a world to themselves in the center of all the madness. They tried to form a shelter for just the two of them.

The problem was, once they got bored with Remy—which took quite a long time, mostly because they got a real kick out of Rogue's reactions—they moved on to hurting her. They were more careful with her, taking special care not to damage anything vital. They had not given Remy that same courtesy. He was bruised, bloody, and his hands and feet were mangled beyond belief. Their favorite thing had been a thick wooden paddle that they would beat across the bottom of his feet and across the knuckles of his hands. After his hands and feet, they had taken great joy in searing a crude "M" onto his chest, directly over his heart. Unfortunately for him, he didn't pass out, which would have been a welcome relief. Instead, he had stayed awake while they invented knew and interesting ways to get more blood from Rogue.

Her throat was killing her. She didn't know if you could scream until your throat bled, but she was beginning to think that it was very, very possible. At first, she had tried to bite her tongue and hold back everything, but after the first few cuts, shallow as they were, she was beyond rational thought. She had not been aware that there were so many types of pain: searing, burning pain, sharp, stabbing pain, blindingly awful pain…The whole time, she kept her eyes on Remy, who was shouting and swearing in a manner no one had ever heard from him before.

"Stop 'dis, 'y bastards! 'Y got what 'y wanted! Rogue? Rogue? Are 'y alrigh'?" Concern and anger were a strange mix in his voice.

In her head, his psyche was doing it's best to keep her sane. _'Y gotta be strong, chere. It's gonna be over soon. Remy's sure 'dat Jean and Wolvie and Stormy is on 'de way to help 'y. It's gonna be alrigh'…_He continued to sooth her, which was really the only thing that was keeping her from going completely insane.

Remy LeBeau was not the type of man who cried. Prior to this experience, he didn't do lots of things: beg, cry, grovel…he was finding that his horizons were rapidly expanding. Everything was hurting, from his scalp to the tips of his now nail-less toes, and that made it considerably easier to do some of the things that he never thought he would. While he had been very well acquainted with methods of torture (after all, he had grown up knowing about the Assassin's Guild and their methods) he had never expected any of them to be used on him, much less the woman he loved.

Her pain was breaking his heart. At first she had screamed, but now she no longer had the voice to do so. Instead, tears trickled down her cheeks, and his own tears shortly followed. This was his Rogue being beaten, and there was nothing he could currently do about it. He was strapped to a damn stretcher, completely helpless and completely in pain. If Rogue hadn't been in so much pain, he would have considered himself lucky…after all, he could still see, and (however unfortunate) feel everything. What really worried him was when he started to notice her eyes falling shut.

"Rogue? C'mon, _chere, _'y gotta look at meh! Rogue! 'Y gotta stay 'wake. C'mon be mad. 'Dey hurtin' 'y, an' it's not 'y fault! Be pissed!" She pulled her eyes open once again and nodded slightly to him. Thugs A and B resumed their nasty work, but now there was a spark in her eyes. That feisty Southern belle that he loved so much was back.

"Be angry. Be angry. Get pissed," she whispered to herself. "Get pissed…"

* * *

"I can smell them," Wolverine growled as he stood in the alley beside Remy's abandoned bike. Jean, Scott, Storm and Hank stood around him, watching. The Professor said he would call when he got a read on the two missing mutants, but they hadn't heard anything yet. There was blood on the pavement, and that was not sitting well with any of the X-men that were standing around.

"There's blood…can you tell whose it is?" Jean asked. Logan sniffed closely and nodded.

"It's Gambit's."

"Is there a trail? Can you track them?"

"It's barely there, but I'll see what I can do."

They followed Logan as he tried to pick up on a trace of Remy or Rogue, but it had been two days, and there had been rain. It was difficult, frustrations were high, and even though they hadn't been looking for very long, they were starting to lose hope of finding them alive. When Storm's phone rang, they all jumped.

"Professor?" she answered by way of greeting, though it could hardly be called that. Her voice was too tense for it to be called a greeting.

"They're in a warehouse in the old business district. Hurry, they're in bad shape," he answered, his voice equally terse.

"Directions?"

The Professor quickly gave her directions, which she repeated out loud for the benefit of her companions. The minute that they were out of her mouth, the team started moving in the right direction, determined to rescue Rogue and Gambit. It took them all of two minutes to reach the warehouse, and landed the Blackbird as quietly as they were able. Logan went ahead of the rest of the team, using his claws to quickly bypass all the doors and locks between them and the inside of the building. Hank followed close behind to provide medical support should they need it, which they would.

The minute Jean set foot in the building, waves of telepathic energy almost knocked her over. She leaned heavily on Scott as she tried to sort them out. Remy was broadcasting the loudest. He was concerned for Rogue, and from the pictures she was seeing in his mind, she didn't have to wonder why. He was angry too, but mostly wondering if he could keep Rogue awake long enough for help to arrive. Was help coming? He was thinking that she was beautiful, even when she was covered in blood…

Rogue was in pain, and majorly pissed. She was clinging to her anger with everything that she had in her, and it was making her strong…well, less weak. Remy's words about being angry and getting pissed were echoing inside her head, along with another Remy…that was strange. Rogue was always strange to listen to because of all the psyches in her head, but it was even worse now. There were other people in the building, and their thoughts were too disgusting to listen to. Instead, Jean quickly pushed them to the back of her mind and followed Logan and Hank.

"I can smell them this way," Logan said quietly as he led them down a long corridor, and took a left at the end of it. He stopped outside a room on the right, took a deep breath, and then charged in with a yell, the rest of the team following closely behind.

There were two men standing over Rogue, and Logan took them out before they even had a chance to even register what was going on. Hank was torn between which of the two injured people he should attend to. Rogue was weak, but Remy looked like death. He sprang across the room to where Remy was lying and quickly unstrapped him. Logan took care of Rogue's straps with one clean swipe of his claws.

"The controller," Rogue whispered, her voice hoarse. "it's on the counter over there. Use it to turn off these collars."

"I'll do one better," Logan answered, and carefully sliced through the collar. She tried to sit up, but was unable to do so. As she wobbled, Logan caught her by the ungloved hand, and felt a shock as she absorbed him. She tried to pull away, but he held on for just a minute, trying to give her some of his strength. When he felt the headache getting to head-splitting proportions, he let go.

"Thanks."

"Welcome, Stripes. Now let's get the hell out of here."

"Get Remy."

Logan nodded and picked up Remy in a fireman's carry, ignoring Hank's protests that moving him could be dangerous and cause permanent damage. It wasn't really the most gentle manner, but it was what they had available to them. Rogue slid off the table, feeling a little more like herself, burning with rage and looking for an outlet.

"Guys, we've got more trouble!" Jean called from the doorway, where she was standing lookout. Being able to pick up on other people's thoughts did make one a very skilled lookout. This spurred them into action even faster than before. Rogue tried to keep up with Logan, but she was definitely still not in the best of shape. Hank picked her up and carried her out quickly. Storm had the Blackbird waiting, ready to take off as they exited the building.

As they were boarding the Blackbird, the Doctor exited the building, a large submachine gun in his hands. He looked half mad, with crazy hair and blood on his hands and lab coat. Upon seeing him, Hank practically tossed Rogue onto the plane and quickly pulled himself inside. Jean and Scott came next, the sound of gunfire following after them. They could hear the bullets ricocheting off the sides of the plane. The minute that it took Logan to get himself and Remy onto the plane was by far the longest minute of Rogue's life.

That is, until she saw the blood that was all over Logan. As soon as he and Remy were on board, Storm took off. Logan stopped to assess his own injuries, which were already healing, of course. Nothing but a few holes in his shirt, that's all. So where the hell was all the blood coming from?

"Remy!" Her voice would have been a scream, but her throat still wasn't recovered from her earlier experience, so it came out as a croak. She pulled herself out of the chair and moved faster than anyone who had just been through what she had should have been able to. She was at his side in a minute, studying him, trying to find some way to stem the tide that was pouring from a wound in his chest.

"Remy! Hank! Remy's hit! Oh Gawd…" She went to cover the wound, but her hands were ungloved. She pulled her bloody gloves from her pocket and slid them on, and tried to stop the bleeding. He was gasping for breath, his eyes unfocused.

"_Chere?"_

"Yeah, it's meh, swamp rat…Ah don't know how yah managed to get yahself shot, but…" She trailed off as tears started to trickle down her cheeks. God, it looked awful. Hank was kneeling beside them, and gently moved Rogue's hand away from the wound so that he could have a better look. Remy grasped her hand and tried to smile at her.

"_Chere…_Ah'm a tad chilly."

"Yeah," she answered through her tears. "Storm's got the air conditioning on."

"_Non…_it's 'de blood loss…"

"Don't be silly. It's not that much blood." She was trying to convince herself even more than she was trying to convince him. She needed to believe that it wasn't bad, that he was going to be just fine. "Now stop whinin'."

He managed a slight smile at that. "Rogue…What's 'y name?" he asked, his voice more serious than she had ever heard.

"It ain't important rahght now."

"Remy wants to know before he di—"

"Don't say that!" she said fiercely, squeezing his hand tightly. She held on as if she could keep him tethered to this world with her grip…hell, it was worth a try. He looked paler every minute.

"Ah love—" he started.

"No!" she yelled, taking him by the shoulders. "No! Yah don' get to say that ta meh rahght now! It don't count when yah're _dying! _ When you think that yah're not gonna have ta deal with the consequences of it 'cause yah'll be dead. No! That don't count! If yah love me, yah can tell me when yah wake up in the hospital, yah got that? Yah can tell me then…"

"_Chere…"_

"No! Not a minute before. Anything yah wanna know…when yah wake up, okay?" she whispered, stroking his face. He smiled gently at her.

"Okay…"

His eyes fell shut slowly as he lost consciousness. Rogue clutched his hand, determined to be his tether to this world while Hank worked like crazy to keep him in it.

* * *

**Author's Note: **So, there it is. I hope it was worth the wait (which I apologize for...I blame exams). Please be super awesome and review!!! Thanks!!


	5. I'll Tell You Everything

**Author's Note: **A huge, huge thank you to everyone that read/reviewed/favorited/alerted. That makes my day. Also, I promise, no cliffhangers this time. Anyway, I hope you enjoy the chapter.  


* * *

Jean Grey had never felt such overwhelming sadness in her entire life, and it wasn't even hers. Remy's thoughts as he had lost consciousness were emotional and overwhelming, and she wished that she had never known them. He had been recollecting all the moments that he and Rogue had shared: their trip to New Orleans, their first _real _kiss, the despair of seeing Rogue bloody and giving up on that table, the pain of his gunshot wound…The thoughts were so overwhelming, that she couldn't keep back her own tears. What made it worse was that she could hear Hank's thoughts about Remy's condition, and Rogue's hopeful thoughts. From what she was gathering from Hank, soon she would be further overwhelmed, because Rogue wasn't going to hopeful much longer. Unable to stand being in the same room with Rogue and the unconscious Remy, she made her way up to the cockpit, where Storm and Logan were arguing.

"We have to get him to a hospital. That's the only chance he's got," Logan was saying gruffly.

"If we take him to a hospital, they'll have all his information. Name, social security—"

"None of that is going to matter if he's dead, which he will be if you don't go to a hospital," Jean snapped, interrupting their conversation. "Hank is back there thinking that we're lucky Remy is even alive at this point. Storm, put this thing down at the closest hospital and we'll take our chances there. It's the only chance he's got. And radio ahead to let them know we're coming."

"Jean, this is not your decision to make," Storm started.

"Well someone should since all you two can do is argue," she said, her voice leaving no room for argument. "If Gambit dies, Rogue is going to…just get us to the nearest hospital. _Now._" Storm nodded.

_Way to go, Red. Now let's hope Gumbo is as tough as he brags. If he dies, it'll destroy Stripes. We've got to save him… _Jean pushed Logan's thoughts to the back of her mind as she crouched beside Hank to see if there was anything else she could do.

"We're headed for a hospital," she told Hank. He nodded tersely and gently laid an ear to Remy's chest.

"His breath sounds aren't good. The bullet missed his heart, which is a small miracle, but it probably punctured a lung," Hank told her.

"At this point, I think we should be grateful for any miracles at all," Jean whispered, trying not to disturb Rogue. Rogue, who was sitting right beside him, did not react at all. Instead, she continued to hold Remy's hand and whisper to him as if he could hear her.

"C'mon Remy, yah've gotta hang in there for meh, okay? Yah've just gotta hang in there. Jean says that we're gonna get yah to a hospital. Yah just gotta hang on so the doctahs can fix yah up. Then I'll answer any question yah've got," she whispered to him. She was running her hand through his hair and over his face, not caring that she was staining her formerly white gloves with blood. It didn't matter. Nothing mattered except keeping Remy here, with her.

"Should we try ta keep him warm? We don't want him ta go inta shock," she asked Hank. He nodded. Scott, who had been sitting by, watching the entire heartbreaking scene, pulled off his jacket and offered it to them. Rogue quickly took it, but then realized that she wasn't exactly sure what to do with it, so she handed it to Hank, who took special care not to disturb Remy's wound any further when he wrapped it around him.

"How much longer until we get to a hospital?" Hank asked. Jean looked to Scott, who rose to find out. He returned quickly.

"We're landing now. If you can put on a seatbelt, you should," Scott informed them. Jean and Hank quickly sat in a seat and buckled their seatbelts. Rogue didn't budge. Instead, she continued to hold Remy and talk to him. She was talking about anything and everything that had ever meant anything to them.

"Yah know, when yah wake up Ah'm gonna have to chew on yah, because yah called me _chere _a bunch and yah know Ah don't lahke that," she whispered. Of course, that was a lie. She loved it when he called her _chere_, but she hated to admit that to him, especially when his ego was big enough as it is. When he woke up, she would tell him how much she liked it when he called her by her pet name. She would tell him anything that he wanted to know: her name, her favorite ice cream flavor, what kind of underwear she wore. Nothing would be off limits.

Even as the doors of the Blackbird opened and the waiting doctors poured on board to take care of Remy, Rogue didn't want to let go. She held his hand as they loaded him onto a gurney—which was stark white and immediately stained with Remy's blood—and took him into the hospital. The whole hospital was so clean and bright and white. It only made the red that stained her clothes seem even brighter. An operating room was ready and waiting, but Rogue wasn't letting go. It wasn't until Logan and Jean pulled her away that the doctors were able to get him into the operating room.

Logan threw her over his shoulder in a fireman's carry, taking her to an examination room so that she could be checked on. Not all of her wounds were healed just yet, and he wanted to make sure that all the damage was superficial. She fought him the whole way, so Logan didn't have the luxury of being gentle. He noticed that she wasn't fighting as hard as she normally would have, which lead him to believe that not everything was okay.

"No! Ah can't let go! What if he thinks Ah've left him? Ah can't leave him," she croaked, panic filling her voice.

"If you didn't let go, they wouldn't have been able to operate," Jean said as Logan Rogue down in an examination room. The minute she hit the bed, she was immediately trying to sit up to return to Remy. "And you should be checked out, too, Rogue. We need to make sure that you're all right, too."

"Ah don't wanna be looked at. Ah'm fahne."

"You're not fine, Rogue. You're practically catatonic," Jean said. "Please, let the doctor take a look at you."

"Ah don't wanna be checked over until Ah know if Remy's alrahght."

Neither Jean nor Logan liked what they were seeing. Rogue was there, but she wasn't really there. She wasn't comprehending much of anything, and her voice was devoid of any emotion. Definitely not a good sign at all. A peek inside her mind revealed exactly what Jean was afraid of: thoughts of Remy were running through Rogue's mind, building a wall around her. If all she thought about was Remy, she didn't have to deal with any of the other emotions that were threatening to boil over.

Seeing that Jean's logical, gentle approach was not working, Logan grabbed Rogue by the shoulders and gave her a good hard shake. Her eyes widened, stunned. "Cut it out, Stripes. You're going to get checked out by a doctor. Then you can go wait with the rest of us for Remy to come out of surgery. Remy wouldn't want you to sit there, possibly hurt, while he was in surgery. He would want to you to take care of yourself."

Rogue nodded and took a deep breath, finally letting everything in. Until Logan had shaken her, nothing was really getting through to her. She had been cocooned in her worry for Remy, and now she had been shaken out of her cocoon. She was feeling everything: sadness, worry, pain, and rage. Rage was the worst. Someone had put her in this situation. The Doctor had shot Remy. All this was his fault. The faster she got checked out, the faster she could hunt down the son of a bitch who had shot Remy. Yes, suddenly things were all flooding back.

_C'mon, _chere, _be pissed. Use what 'y're feelin' ta catch 'de bastard 'dat did 'dis ta Remy. _ His voice in her mind only added fuel to the fire. She didn't want the Remy psyche that existed in her mind to be the only Remy that she had. She wanted the real, live Remy. One that she would eventually be able to touch. The Remy that had kissed her gently and loved her enough to sacrifice himself for her, however stupid that decision was.

"Get the doctah in here," she said, looking at Jean. Jean nodded and left the room. She returned shortly with tall, plain woman who looked more like the woman from "American Gothic" than a doctor. She motioned for Logan and Jean to leave the room. Logan did so quickly, knowing that Rogue was probably going to have to disrobe. Jean was slower, wanting to offer her support. She only left after Rogue nodded to her.

"I'm Dr. Wagner. Can you tell me what happened?" the doctor asked.

"Ah'm a mutant. Mah boyfriend—" her voice broke on the word—"and Ah were ambush'd at a Friends of Humanity meetin'. We were kidnapped and tortured. He's in surgery, so yah should hurry and get this over with so Ah can go wait for him ta come outta surgery," Rogue said tersely. She was thinking of all the things that she could be doing with her time instead of sitting there. She knew she was fine; she was still feeling a little weak, sure, but it was a hell of a lot better than Remy was doing.

"Torture? What exactly did they do?" Dr. Wagner asked.

"They took a lotta mah blood ta use fo' experiments. Then they jus' made a bunch of shallow cuts all ova mah body."

"I'm going to need you to disrobe so that I can examine you. I'll go so you can have some privacy—"

"No, that's alrahght. Stay," Rogue answered, pulling her shirt off and shimmying out of her pants. "Just, make sure ya wear gloves when ya touch meh. My skin is dangerous."

The doctor just nodded matter of factly, pulled on some gloves and began her examination. She could see the remnants of cuts, but they were almost completely healed. There was no way that these cuts could have been sustained earlier in the same day. Then again, she was a mutant, so maybe they were. Dr. Wagner noticed a lot of bruises, most of which were almost healed, but she was concerned about the major bruise around Rogue's throat.

"What happened to your throat?"

"They put a collar on meh. It tahghtened and choked meh."

"Is that why you're voice is hoarse?"

"No. That was from the screamin'."

"Okay, well, I'm going to need to do a test to see if you're anemic because you've lost so much blood. Sit tight." The doctor quickly took a small blood sample, and disappeared for several minutes, and Rogue got dressed again.

The whole time Rogue was alone with her thoughts, haunted by the fact that she hadn't let Remy tell her that he loved her, and the fact that she had never told him. Saying it when he was dying—it was awful to even think the word—was too much like good-bye, and she didn't even want to acknowledge that could be a possibility. Remy couldn't die. He was too strong. He had kept her alive when she wanted to give up hope. She couldn't give in to despair and tell him that she loved him—that was too much like giving up on him, and he hadn't given up on her.

_'Dat's righ', chere. Don' give up on Remy. _

"Ah'm not. But if yah—he dies—"

_T'ink 'bout catchin' 'de bastard who did 'dis. Don' t'ink 'bout 'de bad stuff._

"Rahght. Ah'm gonna think about pulling that bastard's dick out through his nostrils," she said aloud, her voice full of rage.

"Excuse me?" Dr. Wagner said quietly as she entered the room.

"Sorrah about that. Sometimes it just…happens."

"Are you telepathic?"

"No…when Ah touch someone, Ah absorb their lahfe force, and Ah get some of their personality in mah head. Remy is in mah head, but Ah'd rather have him here, with meh."

"Oh…you poor thing. I'm so sorry." Rogue just shook her head quietly, trying not to feel sorry for herself. "Well, you're highly anemic. I'm surprised you're still conscious. You need a blood transfusion." Again, Rogue just nodded, not really paying attention. She was thinking of all the fun and interesting ways that she could kill someone. Logan would probably help her if she asked…

Jean came in to sit with her while she had the blood transfusion. While she wasn't generally a squeamish woman, Rogue just couldn't bring herself to look at the blood that was flowing from a bag into her arm. Every time she saw it, all she could think of was all the blood that was all over Remy. Remy's blood puddling on the floor of the Blackbird…

"Rogue, the doctors are doing the best they can. Remy's in good hands," Jean said, trying to comfort her.

"He shouldn't be in there hands. He should be in mah arms," Rogue answered. "Can you get Logan, please?" Jean nodded and quickly left the room. Logan was in the waiting room with Hank, who looked anxious.

"Logan, Rogue wants to talk to you. She's plotting revenge, and I guess she pegged you as the man to help her with that. How's Remy?"

"The doctors said there was a lot of internal damage. They're having trouble getting the bleeding stopped. They can't really do much until then," Hank said, not sounding optimistic at all. Logan left the two without another word. He didn't have to be telepathic to know that right now, Rogue was torn between wanting to be with Remy and wanting to find the guy who did this to them and rip his lungs out. He couldn't really blame her, either.

"Jean said you wanted to see me?" he asked, poking his head into the room where Rogue was sitting.

"I want you to go back to where you found us and sniff around. See if you can find anything that's going to lead us back to this guy. Blood, hair, smell, anything you can find. I want this bastard's head on a platter," she said, her voice distant and cold.

"We have to report this to the police. They'll do an investigation."

"I don't care. Go and look."

"Okay. As soon as Remy wakes up—"

"No, go now."

"Rogue—"

"Now, Logan. Please go now. You're the only one who can find anything useful at this point. When the police get involved, Jean could be useful—"

"Jean isn't going to do that."

"Then I'll find someone else. I told you, I want this bastard dead. I want him to hurt like he hurt Remy…like he hurt me."

"Hurting him isn't going to make Remy better," he said, knowing exactly how she was feeling. He also knew that she if she finally got her revenge, it wasn't going to make her feel better. She was thinking that it would, but if she did kill the guy, it wasn't going to bring Remy back. If she killed him, it would hurt, and it wouldn't give her the satisfaction she wanted. Instead, it was going to leave her with a gaping hole in her chest.

"I know that. But he should have to suffer like he made Remy suffer. Logan, they branded him. They pulled his toenails out and broke his fingers and beat him. And there was blood on him, and his eye was swollen shut and he still managed to talk to me and make sure that I didn't give up and it's not fair—" She couldn't speak any more for all her sobbing. All the fear and frustration and pain and rage came pouring out in her tears. Logan, who really wasn't the emotional go-to guy didn't really know what to do other than stand there and pat her shoulder awkwardly. "Please…I need to find the…monster that did this…please…"

"Okay. I'll go as soon as you're done here."

Half an hour later, when the doctor gave Rogue the okay, Logan escorted her upstairs to where Hank and the rest of the crew were waiting, before heading back to the warehouse where they had found the two missing mutants. Rogue sat in the waiting room, staring blankly at the doors leading into the operating room, waiting for a doctor to come and tell her something.

"Have y'all heard anything?" she asked. Hank, knowing that the news so far wasn't good, he just shook his head. He knew that the minute he opened his mouth, she would know he was lying to her. "Ah need ta know somethin'."

"No news is better than bad news, Rogue," Jean said quietly.

Time moved so slowly, creeping by. Minutes seemed like hours, hours days. She wasn't really sure how long she sat there, staring at the doors, waiting for someone to open the door and tell her what was going on. She was afraid of moving. If she moved, it felt as if she would shatter into a thousand pieces, and the only one who could put them back together was Remy. Right now she didn't have Remy to put her back together, so she couldn't afford to fall apart.

Finally, a doctor came through the doors and approached Hank. Rogue sprang to her feet, desperate to hear anything they had to say.

"How's he doin'?" she asked immediately.

"We managed to get the bleeding stopped, and repair the internal damage. The problem is, he lost so much blood in transit, we can't be sure how that has affected his brain function. He's in a coma, and we won't know until he wakes up," the doctor said.

"Until he wakes up?"

"If he wakes up. The sooner he wakes up, the better his chances are. He's in recovery now, but soon we'll take him up to ICU. Does he have any family?"

"No. No, we're the closest thing to family he has," Hank said. From Rogue's expression, he could tell that she was trying not to crumble.

"Well, you can see him now, but only two at a time."

"Thank you, doctor," Hank said to the doctor's retreating back. Jean was swearing under her breath, something that she _never _did. The doctor had not sounded at all optimistic, and it was taking its toll on Rogue.

"Come on, Rogue, let's go see if we can sit with Remy." Hank led her towards the recovery ward, wanting to give her as much time with Remy as he could, especially with an outlook this bleak. Of course, he couldn't tell her that, but he knew that she had an idea of what was going on. Jean and Scott stayed in the waiting room, trying to give Rogue some privacy.

Remy didn't look like the charming, lovable man she knew. He looked…if she felt like death, he looked like it. He was so pale, and there was still blood matted in his hair, and bandages over the cuts on his face. His bruises stood out even more against his unusually pale skin, and he looked completely fragile in that hospital gown. She was so used to seeing him in his usual trench coat, that she was completely taken aback to see him in that nasty green hospital gown. His fingers were bandaged, but she held his hand anyway.

"Hank, do yah know what a gambit is?" she asked, her voice completely devoid of any emotion as she stared down at the man she loved. He remained silent. He had played many a chess game in his youth, so he knew very well what a gambit was, but he could tell that she needed to say it. "It's a move in chess, where yah sacrifice one piece so that 'nother can get better position…That's what he did fo' meh. When the Friends of Humanity were attackin' us, they shot Remy. He told meh that he was fahne, and to leave him behind because he could get away. He was lyin' ta meh. He lied ta meh so that Ah would leave. He didn't plan on making it out of there alive…all for meh. And Ah wouldn't even tell him that Ah loved him."

"Rogue, whether you told him or not, he knew. He was—is a smart guy. He knows how you feel about him."

"Still, Ah shoulda told him," she whispered brokenly.

"Well, you can tell him when he wakes up." She nodded. Again, time seemed to drag. The doctors came and moved him into the intensive care until, and Rogue went with him the entire way, hold his hand gently in her smaller one. When he was settled in the ICU, she sat beside him, staring at his face and thinking how strange it was that he wasn't smiling. He always seemed to be grinning. She ran a gloved finger gently over his lips. Hank and Scott alternated sitting with her. Jean wanted to, but Rogue was broadcasting her thoughts, and they were just too overwhelming for Jean to handle.

Rogue felt at least a thousand years old. She was exhausted to the bone, but was determined not to sleep. She found herself losing track of time staring at Remy. Those were precious hours that she was spending with him. She kept telling herself that he was sleeping, and that he was just really exhausted. That's why he didn't wake up and talk to her. Finally, hours later, or maybe days, she wasn't really sure, she couldn't stand it anymore.

"Remy," she whispered. "Remy, yah've slept long enough, sugah. It's tahme ta wake up now. Ah need yah to open those pretty red eyes and look at meh. Ah've got a lotta stuff ta tell yah, but Ah'm not gonna do it if you sleep through it all."

When there was no response, she buried her face in her hands, and let the tears begin to fall. He wasn't coming back to her. She wasn't going to get to tell him everything that she needed to. Her name, her favorite color, her underwear…he was never going to know, because he wasn't coming back. She felt as if someone had reached into her chest and torn out her heart and lungs. It was hard to breathe, the grief was so overwhelming.

"_Chere…"_

"Go 'way. Ah don't need yah rahght now. Ah want real Remy," she said, her face still covered.

"_Chere…_what 'y cryin' fo?"

She jerked her hands away from her face and stared down at the man before her. He wasn't smiling, but his eyes were open. They were glazed over with pain, but they were open, and they recognized her. Remy was awake and recognized her.

"Remy! Oh Gawd! Ah love yah," she said, kissing his bandaged fingers. "Ah love yah. Ah love yah. Ah'm sorrah Ah didn't tell yah. Ah love yah." She kissed each of the bandages on his face. "Ah love yah. A love yah—"

"Remy knows 'dat," he whispered, his voice a croak.

"Yah do?"

"O' course."

"Ah thought maybe yah didn't, and that yah were gonna leave meh here alone."

"_Non, chere,_" he whispered, kissing her gloved hand. "Ah'm never gonna leave 'y. Not even when 'y want meh ta."

She sighed in relief. "Ah'll nevah want yah ta leave."

"Good, 'cause Remy's not goin' anywhere."

* * *

**Author's Note:** So, there you have it. I hope you enjoyed it, and please, please review. Reviews are like sunshine on a cloudy day...


	6. A Better Person

**Author's Note:** Again, a huge, huge, huge thank you to everyone who read/alerted/favorited/reviewed. The support and feedback is incredible. Thanks so much. Also, here is the next chapter, and I hope you enjoy.

* * *

Despite the fact that Remy had spent a day in a coma, he was exhausted. Everything hurt—it wasn't a dull ache, either. It was a sharp, every-time-you-move, takes-your-breath-away kind of pain, and it was laughing at the meds they had him on to combat it. Normally after a mission, he would stop to catalogue the pains, which were usually minor, and decide which needed the most attention. In this case, they were all hurting so damn bad, he wasn't sure which was worst. All he knew was that he was groggy as hell. It could have been the pain, or the pain meds, he didn't know.

The only thing cutting through the haze in his brain was Rogue's voice. Her voice had been the first thing he had heard upon waking, if he had even been awake. It felt more like she had called him back into the world. Her voice had broken through his coma and led him through the haze and back to the world. Not that he would have left her there. No, he could never do that.

Since her affectionate outburst upon his waking, she had refrained from touching him, as if she was afraid of hurting him. Of course, even the lightest of touches _did _hurt him, considering the fact that there wasn't a part of his body that didn't hurt. But that isn't to say that he didn't want her to touch him, because he did. Those light kisses had been…too brief and too chaste for his liking, but life affirming all the same.

And, best of all—even better than being alive—was that she loved him back. She loved him. He had known it all along, just as she had known that he loved her, but hearing her say it in that sweet, southern drawl had been enough to make him forget the pain (only for a brief moment, though, unfortunately). He faintly remembered her telling him that she would tell him anything he wanted to know after the doctors patched him up, and he was wondering how far he could push that, because there were some very…interesting questions he wanted to ask. But best of all, he was alive to live with the consequences of a confession of love. They loved each other, and they were both alive to do something about it.

"Rogue," he whispered. Anything above a whisper took a lot of breath, and breathing was very painful at the moment. "Since Remy's awake, does 'dis mean he can tell 'y what he was tryin' tah say befo'?"

A slow smile spread across her face. "Yeah. Yah can tell meh whateva yah want, sugah."

"Ah love 'y."

"Ah know," she answered. She reached out to run her fingers through his hair, but she checked herself. She was still hurting a bit, and she damn well knew that he was. He had been through enough pain on her behalf, and she was determined not to cause any more.

Noticing the gesture, he whispered, "It's al'righ', _chere. _Go ahead."

"Ah don' wanna hurt yah…"

"Remy's hurtin' so much righ' now, it can' possibly get any worse."

"Nevah say nevah," she said with a slight grin. With trembling hands, she ran her gloved fingers through his blood-matted hair. She had to take extra care to make sure she didn't get anything tangled, but it was lightest of touches, and she was infinitely gentle. If he had been able to sigh in content, he would have. Instead, he felt his eyes falling shut again. Try as he might, he was just so _tired _that he couldn't seem to keep them open.

"'Y know 'dis has not'in' tah do wid' y're comp'ny_, chere_. Remy's just so…"

"Tired. Ah know. Yah go on back tah sleep. Ah'll be here when yah wake up," she said with a sad smile.

"B'fore Ah take mah nap…smile fo' meh," he requested. The very fact that he was alive and asking her for something was more than enough to make her smile. It was a genuine smile that reached her eyes, and was so wide it made her cheeks hurt. Remy noticed that she had lovely teeth: they were pearly white and perfectly straight. It was a pity she didn't smile more. "'Y should smile more…'y got a great smile."

"Ah think that's those pain pills they got yah on, swamp rat. Now go tah sleep." He closed his eyes for a brief second before opening them again, a look of concern on his face.

"Did 'y go tah 'de doctah?" he asked. "Are 'y alrigh'?"

"Yeah, Remy, Ah'm fahne."

"Good…Ah don' t'ink Ah could kill 'de bastard righ' now," he whispered as his eyes finally closed and he drifted off to sleep. Rogue wanted to do the same thing, but she didn't. Actually, what she really wanted to do was climb into bed and curl up next to him, but that was pretty much out of the question as well. Instead, she continued to sit beside him in silence.

A few minutes later, Jean stepped into the room. Rogue was still sitting at Remy's bedside, studying his face, her hands in her lap. Jean hated to interrupt the moment. Even though Remy was asleep, the moment was full of intimacy, and she felt that she had no place there, like she was intruding on a private moment.

"Logan is waiting for you outside," she said. Rogue looked at Remy, her reluctance to leave written all over her face. She was torn between wanting to stay with Remy and wanting to get the bastard who put him in the hospital. Jean tried to set her mind at ease. "He's going to be asleep for a while. Scott and I will sit with him until you get back." Rogue nodded, and gently kissed Remy's forehead—bandage safely between them—and left the room quietly.

Logan was waiting around the corner looking none too happy, though that might have to do with the fact that Rogue was not smelling so great. After all, it had been kidnapping, bloody torture, and painful waiting since her last shower. No, she was not smelling like roses right now. His twitch of the nose was confirmation of the fact. Pushing thoughts of hygiene from her mind, she asked him point blank, "What did you find?"

"The Doctor guy had to have been planning this for a long time. There were two long hallways of holding cells, three labs, and what appeared to be an office for him to keep all of his notes on what he was doing," Logan said gruffly. He had seen a lot in his time, but nothing was quite as stomach turning as that. "When they were finished with their experiments—"

"Yah mean once the mutant had died," Rogue corrected. She didn't want him mincing words.

"Yeah. Once the victims were dead, they stored the bodies in one of the labs they were using. My guess is that they hadn't been able to dispose of the bodies just yet, because there was a pile of them in there."

"Ah'm bettin' those are our missin' mutants."

"Exactly. He kept files for each one. I didn't look through all them but, this guy was not a nice guy—"

"No shit, Logan—pardon, mah French. This guy was gonna kill Remy and use mah powahs tah make anothah collar…it would kills mutants and absorb our powahs. How does someone in the Friends of Humanity have that kinda resources?" She was starting to think out loud, rather than just ask questions for them to be answered. Her mind was going at least a hundred miles per hours, trying to find answers.

"I didn't look through his research notes—Jean would be better for that, but he had some notes on the collars."

"If we get those notes tah Hank and Jean, Ah'm thinkin' they'll be able tah do somethin' useful with 'em. Now, did yah find the Doctah?"

"I picked up a trail. We should go in with backup. Get Storm and Cyclops and we'll go investigate. Then you can take a shower. I could smell you from the elevator," he ordered. She made her way back to Remy's room where she found Hank standing outside the door. Inside, Jean resting her head on Scott's shoulder, hands entwined, as they watched over Remy. A twinge of jealousy tore through her.

_Non, chere…One day 'y'll control 'y powers._

She sighed and pushed Remy's voice out of her mind and interrupted the couple before her. "Scott, Logan needs yah. We're goin' after the guy that did this," she informed him brusquely. He kissed Jean lightly on the forehead and rose from his chair. Jean followed suit.

"I'm not letting you go alone. This guy's dangerous, and I can help. I'm not staying here," she said in response to her boyfriend's questioning look.

"Well, c'mon then. Let's go," Rogue said, her voice harsher than she meant it to be. She had told Remy that she would be there when he woke up and she didn't want to make a liar of herself.

As she walked past the nurses station, one of them stopped her. "Miss, the police are on the way. We can't let you go anywhere." The nurse reached for Rogue's arm, who promptly pulled away as quickly as she could. Jean, who followed close behind her, stopped to quickly make amends.

"Sorry. When the police arrive, send them to this address," she said, jotting down the warehouse address on a sheet of paper. Then she quickly disappeared around the corner after Rogue and Scott.

Rouge was on edge, and her motions reflected it. She was jerky and tense, and wanting to return to Remy. Of course, that was only part of the reason she was so on edge. The rage that she had suppressed earlier was quickly coming back to the surface, and she was fighting to keep it under control. She was grateful that she hadn't had to experience the untimely deaths that the mutants before her head. But mostly, she was thinking that payback was a bitch.

* * *

When they arrived back at the warehouse, Rogue practically pushed Logan out the Blackbird in her haste to get inside the building. She had never been a team leader before, but there was no doubt in anyone's mind that this was her show. She gave orders as naturally as if she had been doing it her whole life.

"Jean, yah head intah the office and get the files on all the mutants he killed. And see if yah can find anything on those damn collars."

"What about the police?"

"We'll deal with them latah. Scott, yah go with Jean. Logan, Ah wanna find this bastard. Let's go," she said, her voice leaving no room for argument.

"Where's the office?" Scott asked. He hadn't really looked earlier.

"Logan, where's the office?" Rogue asked, with a look in his direction. He led them into the building, towards the office. As they walked down the hallway, Logan barked directions, keeping to the side, in front of a door. Jean and Scott ran ahead the office, but Rogue hung back, waiting for Logan to move. She knew him well enough to know when he was hiding something; subtlety wasn't exactly Logan's forte. Upon realizing that he couldn't get Rogue to pass the room, he stepped aside.

It was the lab that had been converted to a morgue. There were bodies stacked on tables and gurneys, and even worse, some were left on the floor. They were naked, and no one had bothered to cover them; instead, they were just left out in the open. Pieces of meat in a butcher shop were treated better than this.

If the sheer number of corpses wasn't horrifying enough, their eyes were still open, as were the gaping wholes in their bodies. They hadn't even bothered to clean the room. Blood was everywhere: pooled on the floor, staining the gurneys, splattered on the walls. Rogue could see that each of them had died horribly; they had been sliced open and beaten. All of them had been branded with a crude "M" over their hearts. To make matters worse, their eyes were open staring emptily at her.

"What's this—oh, God!" Jean covered her mouth and tried to quell the nausea rising in the pit of her stomach. The files she had been holding fell to the floor.

"Ah guess we really were the lucky ones," Rogue said. She stepped closer to one of the corpses that was still wearing a collar. She scanned the room, and found it was the only one. "We should find all the collars we can. It would really _suck _if those got intah the wrong hands. Logan, do yah have the scent?"

"I do, but…it's strange…it's all over, so it's hard to get a good read on where exactly he is. It'll take be a minute to sort out his trail exactly. It's almost like he circled the building a few times and then came back inside. He's trying to throw us off—"

"How could he have known that we would have you?" Jean asked.

"He probably didn't. He was probably thinking that the police would have bloodhounds," Logan answered swiftly and continued sniffing.

"You do realize that we're tampering with evidence, right?" Scott asked, picking up the pieces of what used to be Rogue's collar off the floor.

"Ah don' care."

"The police aren't going to be able to catch him if—"

"We're gonna catch him. Ah'm not givin' him a chance tah do this again," Rogue hissed. "How would yah lahke it if it was Jean, huh?"

"I don't know who Jean is, but I think it could be fun," a voice answered from behind them. Logan, recognizing the smell, turned around immediately, claws out. The collar slid from Scott's fingers as he stepped between Jean and the newcomer. Rogue, recognizing the voice, froze. The Doctor was standing in the doorway, gun in hand. That gun, as it happened, was pointed at them.

_C'mon, chere. Be mad, be pissed…don' freeze…_

"It's so nice to see you again…Rogue, was it? Tell me, did the male live?" he asked. She clenched her jaw, and fisted her hands, readying for a fight. "He wasn't looking that great last time I saw him."

"Yes, as a mattah o' fact, he did. Does that piss yah off?" Rogue asked, her voice dripping with hatred. Letting her rage get the better of her, she started walking towards him, not caring about the pistol pointed in her direction. "In fact, Remy's gonna be just fahne. The _real _doctah, yah know, the ones that help people, said that there would be some scarrin', but that otherwise, he'll be rahght as rain."

She noticed a faint tremor in the Doctor's hand as she stepped closer. _Good, _she thought, _yah should be afraid, yah bastard. _ The closer she got, the more she could see the desperation in his eyes. This was a plan hatched out of panic; he hadn't really thought it through. Before he could shoot, the gun flew from his hand, across the room, and into the waiting hands of Jean Grey. A scary smile spread across Rogue's face as the Doctor, who's only means of defense had been his gun, was now white-faced and terrified.

"Not so scary now, are yah? Is yahr gun the only thing givin' yah yahr confidence?" she asked, stepping closer. He began backing away, desperately trying to get away from her. She couldn't help but laugh at the man, though it came out sounding a bit more sinister than that. "Ah can't believe Ah was scared of yah. Yah look so…weak." His back hit the wall, and he had no where else to go.

Jean, troubled by the display before her, moved to put an end to it before Rogue did something that she would regret. Logan stopped her with a hand. "No, this is hers to finish," he said lowly.

Rogue continued moving towards the Doctor, until there was no space between them. She placed a gloved hand on his chest and watched as his eyes filled with tears and his face got redder and redder. He couldn't even put an entire sentence together, he was so terrified. Keeping him pinned against the wall with her elbow, she slowly pulled one of her gloves off, a smile on her face.

"Please—you know—I didn't mean any harm—"

"Yah didn' mean any harm? Tell that tah all those mutants yah killed," she whispered. His eyes widened as she ran her bare hand over his chest towards his face. "Ah can kill yah with a touch…It would be so easy…" She raised her hand and let it hover millimeters from his face. He could feel the heat from her hand as it hovered, so close, so close. He clenched his eyes shut and waited for what he was sure was going to be an excruciating death.

"…But Ah'm not gonna do that, because Ah'm better than yah. Ah don' kill _people_ because they're different from meh. Ah don' do experiments on innocent _people _or torture 'em tah death for fun. Yeah, we're people, too. Ah'm sparing yah, and yah have to live the knowledge that a _mutant_, one of those 'menaces to society,' as yah call us, is a better _person _than yah," she said. He just stood there, wide eyed. With her gloved hand, she knocked his head against the wall and watched as he collapsed, unconscious, on the floor. "Not tah mention, Ah don' want a sick bastard lahke yah in my head."

She stared down at his prone form on the floor, trembling. It wasn't fear—there was no need to be afraid of him anymore. No, it was all gone: the anger (well, maybe burning hatred was more the proper term), the pain…it was gone. She had seen that man reduced to almost nothing; she could have killed him, but she didn't. There was no need. After all, she had Remy, and that was what was important. She turned to face the others.

"Ah'd lahke tah go see Remy now," she whispered.

"Jean, Scott, you can fly the Blackbird?" Logan asked. They nodded in response. "Get Storm. She can wait for the police and then catch a cab back to the hospital."

"Don't you think you should stay with her?" Scott asked. Logan growled, but nodded. He hated the cops.

The three younger X-men boarded the plane, and took off shortly. The whole flight, Rogue sat still in her seat, exhausted and trying not to think of all dead people back in that warehouse. Scott and Jean were doing the same thing, but they had a plane to fly and couldn't afford to let it show. Not in their flying, anyway. It was written all over their faces.

Upon landing, Rogue mad a beeline for Remy's room. Remy was still asleep, but she could see the gentle rise and fall of his chest, and took comfort in it. Hank was standing, propped up against the wall, watching over his charge. Upon seeing Rogue walk through the door, he smiled. Until he caught a wiff of her. Then he grimaced.

"Rogue, um, I don't mean to be rude, but when was the—" Hank started.

"When Remy wakes up, I'll go take a shower," she promised.

"He won't be awake for some time. It would be a shame to waste a waking moment," he said. She nodded numbly, and he left the room to find her some place to shower. The nurses volunteered their shower to her, and in a daze, she let them lead her to it. She wasn't entirely sure how, but somehow, when she stepped out of the shower, there were clean scrubs and undergarments waiting for her. The scrub look was new for her, but she was more comfortable than she had ever been in her life. Finishing her new look with a pair of slippers and latex gloves, she made her way back to Remy's room. Hank had a cot brought in for her—placed right next to his bed—and the noise just beginning to rouse him.

"Remy?" she said, standing over him.

"Rogue?" he asked, sounding very confused. "That 'y?"

"Yeah, it's meh."

"'Y don' have any makeup on."

"Hank and Logan couldn't stand the smell. They finally talked me intah a shower."

"'Y look beautiful," he said drowsily as he reached for her hand. Since his hand was a giant lump of bandages, she took his hand in hers.

"Ah think those pain meds are takin' their toll. Yah should go back tah sleep."

"'Y need sleep, too, _chere._ Have 'y slept since we got here?"

"Not yet. Ah've had other things tah do," she whispered, running her a finger lightly over the bridge of his nose. He managed a confused look, and she clarified. "Ah got him, Remy. The guy that did this…we got him. Logan and Storm stayed 'til the police could come, but he's gonna…God, Remy, he killed so many people. There were was a room full of bodies…" Tears trickled down her cheeks as she told him of the atrocities she'd seen. He brought her hand to his lips and gently kissed her palm. "Ah don't know if Ah wanna go tah sleep, 'cause Ah might see 'em in mah dreams…"

"_Chere, _Remy's not gon' let 'dat happen again. It won't. We're not gonna let 'dat happen. Remy'll keep 'de nahghtmares away. It'll be alright…'y need tah rest," he told her, his voice gentle.

"Ah don't wanna—yah're awake—"

"Not fo' long. 'Y got a cot…use it." Instead of fighting him, she nodded tiredly, and lay down on the cot, not letting go of Remy's hand. She held his hand to her cheek, and finally drifted off to sleep for the first time in days.

* * *

**Author's Note: **So, there it is. As I'm sure you've noticed, we're nearing the end of the story. I'll probably do one more chapter--as a wrap up. Anyway, I hope you enjoyed, and please, please review. =)


	7. Coming Home

**Author's Note: **So, here it is. The last chapter of the story. I hope you've enjoyed it so far, and I really hope you enjoy the story.

* * *

They were able to bring Remy home from the hospital three weeks later, much to Rogue's relief. For one, they would actually be back in their own beds, which was a relief for Rogue because that hospital cot was about the most uncomfortable thing that she had ever slept on. But mostly, she was ready to be back where she didn't have to walk on eggshells all the time. Everyone was wanting to comfort her—touch her hand, pat her arm—and she couldn't let them because she might drain them dry. It would be nice to be back where everyone knew about her mutation and she wasn't having to explain it every five minutes. It would be nice to be back home where no one was afraid of her.

She was also ready to have her privacy. There wasn't enough of it at the hospital. Someone was constantly outside Remy's room, watching them. There was police protection for a bit, plus whoever Logan had stationed outside the door. It was always the most entertaining for Rogue when it was Kurt or Kitty, but they weren't around often. Logan still found them a tad too immature, no matter how entertaining they were. But she was ready to be able to be alone in her room (or in his room) away from the prying eyes of the rest of the world.

Remy was ready to go home, but not exactly ready to be wheeled out of the hospital in a wheel chair. His feet were healing nicely—which was a small miracle in itself—as were his hands. The doctors said that he was lucky to still have full use of his hands, but that he might have a limp. When they explained this to him, he only smiled at Rogue, knowing that one day that limp would disappear. However, he still had crutches that kept him from his usual catlike grace. It didn't help that his chest was still hurting him.

But what really mattered now was that they were home. They were back at the Institute, and it didn't matter that he had to be wheeled out in a wheelchair or that he was on crutches or that he couldn't get enough alone time with Rogue to take advantage of her "ask me anything" offer. His mind was full of questions for her, and he was ready to take full advantage of her offer. She was ready to be alone with him for the first time since their kidnapping and she was ready to tell him anything and everything he wanted to know.

Three days after they returned home, Rogue crept into Remy's room well after curfew. He was lounging on his bed, shirtless. In the faint light of the room, she could see "M" shaped scar on his chest from where they had branded him. She could also see the grin on his face and the glow of his red eyes.

"'Bout time 'y got here, _chere. _Remy's been waitin' fo' 'y."

"Waiting for meh, huh? Yah shoulda told meh. Ah'm not a mind reader," she answered with a tired grin. She had just come from a training session with Professor X, and it had left her completely exhausted and totally frustrated. She wanted to control her power so badly, and it seemed to get closer with each session, but then she always fell short. The concentration required left her completely exhausted.

"Tired?" he asked.

"A little. Ah feel so close tah finally bein' able tah control it, but it keep slippin' rahght through mah fingers…so tah speak."

"Mmm…well, Remy's t'inkin' 'dat 'y won't slip though his fingers. Come here," he said, holding out his gloved and splinted hands. She crossed the room quickly, not needing a second invitation. His hands slid around her waist as he pulled her close to him, though she took special care to avoid skin to skin contact. She quickly pulled away and perched on the edge of his bed, his hands lingering on her waist. "Now, 'y got some explainin' tah do. 'Y said Ah could have answers."

"Ah did. Ask away."

"What's y're favorite color?"

"Green. A lotta people think it's black, but Ah'm really a fan of green. And purple's pretty nice. Ah think it brings out mah eyes."

As a reward for her answer, Remy brought her hand to his lips and gently kissed it. She shivered in response and he grinned roguishly. "What's wid 'de goth thing?"

"When Ah was growin' up, Irene—the woman that raised meh—told meh Ah had a skin condition and had tah keep all mah skin covered. In the South, especially durin' the summer, that kinda limits yah're options. Ah guess Ah became what everyone though Ah was."

"Do 'y think that 'y would ever wear anything else if 'y got control o' y're powers?" he asked, his imagination already going in an, er, interesting direction.

"Of course. Shorts in the summer. Short sleeves…it would be wonderful."

"What about nahght clothes?"

"What about 'em?" she asked, knowing exactly where this was going.

"What do 'y wear tah bed?"

"Pajamas," she answered, intentionally innocent.

"What kind?"

"Used to be pants and a long-sleeved shirt. Now it's a gown."

"A gown? A short gown?"

She smiled mischievously. "It makes Jean's look long." Remembering Jean's short, blue gown, Remy smiled.

"What 'bout 'y're gloves? Cotton o' silk?"

"Cotton for daywear. Silk gets hard tah wash, though it does feel _lovely_. These are silk," she said, touching the side of his face. The feel of the silk gloves was incredible—soft and smooth—but he would rather be able to touch her skin. His hands slipped lower and into the waistband of her pants, wishing she was wearing one of her tiny nightgowns. He felt the thin elastic waistband of her panties and began to toy with them. After a moment, he began trying to push her pants off her hips.

"And these?" he asked.

"Lace," she answered breathlessly. She squirmed as he pulled them lower. "And taking them off is probably not the best idea right now."

"Sure it is," he said, continuing his motions. With a sigh, she stood and finished his work for him, though shyly. Standing there in her panties and shirt, she looked beautiful—not that she wasn't beautiful all the time, but this was a Rogue that no one else got to see, and that she trusted him that much was an honor.

"Do 'y love meh?" he asked, just wanting to hear her answer again.

"Yes. More than Ah should, prob'ly. Sometahmes it scares meh how much Ah love yah."

"It scares 'y?" he asked, confused.

"Ah don't…If yah had died…Ah don't know what Ah woulda done. It woulda killed meh."

Remy pushed himself upright, his eyes blazing. He grabbed Rogue's shoulders, more roughly than he intended, and forced her to look at him. "_Non, _it wouldn'. 'Y're too strong fo' 'dat. If an'thing ever happens tah Remy, 'y gotta keep goin'. Promise Remy 'dat."

"Ah promise. But yah have tah promise not leave meh," she whispered, running her fingers through his hair.

"Ah promise Ah'll try not tah leave 'y. Ah promise Ah'll never willingly leave 'y. 'Dat's 'da best Remy can do."

"That'll do," she said with a sad smile. "Ah guess." She stretched out beside him, propped herself up on her arm, and looked down at him, studying him intently. Gently, her gloved fingers traced the wicked "M" on his chest, and she frowned. He noticed immediately. "What's wrong, _chere_?"

"Marie," she whispered.

"What?"

"My family used to call me Marie. It was short for Anna Marie." He was silent for a long moment before he answered.

"Well 'den, seems tah Remy 'dat 'dis is in 'da rahght place. An "M" fo' Marie rahght over mah heart."

"Yah wouldn't even have that if it weren't for me! If yah hadn't tried tah be stupid and sacrifice yahself for meh, yah wouldn't have any of these things. Yah got an 'M' that'll remind yah of the woman that caused yahr injuries," she said, her voice full of self loathing.

"_Non, _'dis scar is gonna remind meh of 'da woman worth dyin' for."

In that moment, Rogue wanted to kiss him more than anything else in the world. If given the choice between breathing and kissing Remy, she would have chosen to kiss him. If it weren't for the pesky, practical part of her brain, she probably would have. However, part of her brain was reminding her that her kisses were about as healthy as potassium cyanide, so she didn't. Instead she smiled at him—another perfect smile—and entangled her bare legs with Remy's covered ones.

Remy pushed himself closer to her, and slid his hands under her shirt. She shook her head and tried to pull away, but Remy held her close to him. "'Y not gon' hurt me, _chere." _

"Yah can't know that," she whispered.

"Remy trusts 'y."

With that, he kissed her gently. In her mind, she concentrated on building a wall between herself and Remy, hoping that the mental block was strong enough to keep her from killing him. She was so focused on maintaining the wall in her mind that she didn't notice that Remy had pulled her shirt half way up. The first sensation she noticed was the shock of his metal finger splints on her skin. Quickly, she pulled away, breathless.

"See, 'y didn' hurt Remy," he said with a grin.

It took her a moment to realize what had happened. Her years of hard work had finally paid off. For those few moments, she was able to block her power, to keep it from hurting someone when it mattered. She had actually taken control of her powers, if only for that moment. During a kiss, no less, when she had thought it would be hardest.

"Ah…Ah controlled it," she said, unable to keep the disbelief out of her voice.

"Ah told 'y that 'y could do it," he answered proudly. He ran his hands up her torso and pulled her shirt over her head. "'Y just had tah want it bad enough."

She smiled at him, despite her exhaustion. Concentrating once more, she bent over him and gently pressed her lips to the scar over his heart. After a moment, one of his arms wrapped around her and pulled her against him so that her head was resting on his chest. After several minutes, she could feel her concentration slipping and she pulled away.

"Ah can't…Ah'm too exhausted tah keep it up," she said. Remy noticed her shaking hands and the exhaustion on her face. Knowing that she was right, he let her go. However, he also noticed that there was triumph written on her face.

"Hold it jus' a little longer, _chere," _he said. She nodded and he kissed her again, more fiercely than before. This time, she responded. She tangled her fingers in his hair and pulled him close against her. It didn't seem possible for her to get enough of him. She _needed _to be closer to him…

Then there was the familiar sensation and Remy's thoughts rushing through her head.

Quickly, she pulled away. Despite the slight draining, she could see a grin on Remy's face, and she couldn't seem to suppress her own smile. "Sorry. Ah lost it there at the end."

"It's alragh'. 'Y'll get better. 'Y're so tired now…it'll be easier when 'y not so exhausted."

"Ah should tell the Professor," she said, rising from the bed to pull her clothes back on. He looked so inviting, laying there with that smile on his face, and those lovely abs begging to be touched. Instead of touching him, she quickly pulled her clothes back on and tossed him a shirt. He pulled it on.

"_Non, _it can wait 'til mornin'."

She climbed back into bed, nestled against him, and decided that he was right. There would be plenty of time to work on it later. What mattered was that she had taken the crucial first step. The rest would come with time. Soon, she would be able to have everything she wanted with him. But for now, she had this moment. It was a wonderful moment for her. For the first time, she felt that something was _right. _Perfectly _right. _

Finally, she had come home.

* * *

**Author's Note: **So, there it is. My first multi-chapter Romy story is complete. A huge thanks to everyone who read/reviewed/alerted/favorited. I really hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. Let me know. Please review.


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